Black As Can Be
by everyone'ssister
Summary: Taking place sometime between Celebrating The Life Of Asa Fox and LOTUS. Sam wakes up to find the bunker empty and his brother missing. When Dean turns up hurt and not quite himself, Sam is sure his worst nightmares are coming true. How did this happen? And what did this have to do with their mom? Prompt!fic.
1. Chapter 1

**Written for my lovely internet friend HBKDEANRKO and the prompt she sent me. I won't share the prompt for fear of spoiling the plot. As you all likely have guessed someone probably couldn't even pay me to write a one shot lol. So not sure how long this will be. Hope we all enjoy! ;);)**

BLACK AS CAN BE

Chapter 1.

 _He's lying in his bed when his eyes open. His ceiling is dark and the room cold around him. The bunker silent, the halls outside shadowed and eery. He's scared, he doesn't know why. His heart is heavy with foreboding as he sits upright and slowly throws the covers off his body and places bare feet on the cold floor._

 _Sam blinks trying to focus in the gloomy light, he opens his door and stumbles out into the passageway. It's too quiet and it works Sam up, his body buzzing with painful tension, his senses so alive everything feels too much._

 _"Dean?" He calls into the still darkness. Afraid to be alone but afraid of what he feels he may find if he finds Dean. The library is uncharacteristically dark. Sam can barely make out the gloomy figures of the chairs and tables, there's a red glow coming from the map room and Sam holds a hand out in front of him as he makes his way there._

 _Nearly trips down the stair in the blackness, but freezes with what his eyes take in. The stuttered gasp is caught in his throat, eyes wide and wild. His brain telling him this is impossible, all his senses screaming at him nononononononono..._

 _His brother lays still across the steps. His head at an odd angle, his hands limp and open, palms up. Green eyes glassy and dim, sightless on the ceiling, lips violently crimson with blood, the liquid already drying tacky in the rusty facial hair by his mouth. Sam falls to his knees hands hovering over the form._

 _The gaping hole there in Dean's chest slaps him with the horrific familiarness of it. The death wound, the last blow...the blood has already stopped flowing, his brother is gone._

 _The sobs are what comes first, breaths that get stuck behind the lump in his throat come out in bursts wetted with the cold, unconscious tears on his face. Long fingers tangle themselves in blood-damp clothes, the other hand pressed lovingly, tenderly against that beloved face._

 _"No, no, no," under his breath, "Dean please..." he breaks off with the iciness of Dean's skin his body rebelling against this reality, shaking comes to his hands, his vision swims, (he feels a phantom ache in his jaw where Dean clocked him so efficiently he'd knocked Sam out cold.)_

 _Sam gathers his brother's corpse into his arms, holding that coldness to his warmth in some silly hope that he can pass it on._

 _"You didn't say goodbye," he whispers into bloody hair. "You didn't let me say goodbye."_

 _And god as he mourns, as he sucks in tearful mouths of air it's the smell of his brother all around. His clothes, his soap...his blood. The irony familiar smell of his blood rich in Sam's nose as he manages to get an arm under Dean's knees and the other around his back._

 _He fells like a soldier stumbling back home from war. But instead of plunder and bounty he carries all he had left back with him. Carries his life, his brother, his best friend...his soulmate in his arms. The war they fought together battled and won...but Dean doesn't get to see their victory, Dean paid for it. Paid for it with his very blood. And that's makes it no victory, no victory at all._

 _When he lays Dean on his bed he feels it's the final goodbye. It takes all the strength in him to pull himself away from the cold but oh so right form. It's not him anymore, he thinks, he's gone by now._

 _"I'm too late," he says staring at Dean's stony face. "You're gone by now."_

 _He looks away over his shoulder as his hand reaches and brushes over those soft lashes and shuts the unseeing eyes that still glisten green and bright even in death. Fingers press hard into his temples as he gazes at his brother. He grabs one of Dean's lax cold hands and holds it tight, presses it to the hot flesh of his lips and tries to breathe warmth back into it._

 _Dean lays there peacefully, god, he looks so peaceful...so relieved, so happy._

 _"Please Dean, please don't leave me." He mumbles, because Dean wouldn't do that. Even if it was easier, even it made him happy...Dean wouldn't leave Sam._

 _"Come back to me, come back to me, I know you can," he whispers as he tastes tears on his lips, as he watches them drop to Dean's knuckles and roll down and away. "Wake up Dean," he whispers, "We weren't done yet, there's still do much for us..."_

 _And then Dean does._

 _Eyes black as can be._

...

Sam jerks awake, sitting up rigidly straight by the time he's fully conscious. His chest heaves with big breaths, sweat sticking his shirt to his back and stomach which is rolling unpleasantly. Trembling hands go over his face and through sweat soaked hair with breaths stuttering from between his lips. He can feel his eyes dilating and going back down again, the shock and scare slowly fading with each logical thought.

Justadreamdeanissafedeanisalivedeanisherewithyou...

It's the same dream. Everything time.

His mind forcing him to relive the agony as some sort of perverted justice. _You didn't say goodbye._ Dean's cold lifeless body a reminder to never shut his brother out again, to remind him that every moment with Dean was a gift, a second chance.

He doesn't dream of hell hounds anymore like he used to, nor of a nothingness created by not knowing, by his brother just being simply gone. And that was it wasn't it? It was all his worst nightmares wrapped in to one all too real happening.

A day when Dean was torn from him, his body torn apart...his heart stopped, his blood soaking everything. And then he was simply gone. His body, the last thing Sam had left, was just gone. Just no Dean. Left nothing behind, no clue, no apology just a few words that shattered Sam's heart and whole world irreparably.

 _Sammy, let me go._

And Sam's answering question was the same every time...

 _How?_

Sam kicks the covers off him too hot, too close, too confining and sighs deep which makes him cough as he throws his legs over the edge of the bed and stands shakily. He opens his door and steps out into the halls which are too dark for his liking, the dim lighting way to close to that of his dream.

He doesn't realize what he's doing until he's standing outside Dean's room. He needs confirmation, assurance truth touch...Dean is alive and with him. The bunker is too quiet for Dean to be anything but asleep so he turns the door handle and opens it silently, steps into the dark coolness of his brother's room.

The familiar, homey, comforting smell surrounds him and soothes his heart, his pulse slowing and his muscles relaxing for the first time since he awoke. He stands for a moment gathering himself in the comfort and safety of Dean's space before walking towards the bed and standing unsure beside it.

"Dean?"

He asks softly, expecting a gruff, sleepy 'what?' that he doesn't get.

"Dean?" He asks sharper, his body language sharpening before Sam's instincts scream at him _wrong!_ He switches the light on to find Dean's bed empty as can be.

Sam's heart constricts with grief and terrifying deja vu, his fingers stretching listlessly in the cold, cold sheets of Dean's bed. Where his brother should be safe, warm, alive, there with words and touches to tell Sam

 _imhereitsokaybaddream?itwasjustadreamneverleavingyousamwildhorsescouldntdragmeaway_

He closes his eyes and swallows thickly trying to define between dream and reality. Where was Dean, where the hell was his brother?

...tbc

Leave a REVIEW if you want to know too!? ;);)

im sorry to be posting so much...I just have so much content and a lot of stories going on. Don't get tired of me please :):)


	2. Chapter 2

**Have another chapter while waiting for the tag for the new episode or if you're on the west coast, while you're waiting for the new episode ;)**

Chapter 2.

Sam dials Dean as soon as he makes it back to his room, pacing like a caged animal, shaking hand rubbing over his mouth as his brother's phone rings. In his mind, Sam runs through all the endless possibilities of the completely normal and completely fatal reasons his brother is MIA. He's swearing under his breath when Dean picks up on the last ring.

"Yello," his brother says, and his voice is sharp and airy like he's breathing in cold air during a chase, his breath racing out after the greeting.

"Dean?" Sam says, his voice smaller than he wanted, relief making his bones go weak.

"Yep, Sam, you okay?" Dean asks, his voice louder than needed, but Sam knows what his brother looks like right now. His eyes are bright, on fire. His hair is wind tussled and standing on end, his white skin wind-brushed with the Kansas winter chill, a too-pretty flush on his cheeks...he looks high. He is; the adrenaline rush Dean's favorite fix of all time...the hunt.

"Where are you?" Sam asks, recovering from his shock, anger taking him, where was Dean at by himself, hunting by himself? Hadn't they decided not to do that anymore? "I woke up and you weren't here." Slips out almost unconsciously, Sam bites his lip with the silence on the other end of the phone.

Dean voice is steadier, calmer. "Didn't you see my note, Sammy? You don't sound so good."

"Uhmm," Sam stops, walking back to Dean's room and spotting the white piece of paper there on the unslept in half of the bed.

A note.

He left another freaking note.

Sam rubs a rough hand down his face and fears for his phone he clutches it so hard, his teeth grind together as he takes a deep breath, how could he? But there it is, and he picks up the little piece of paper finding the words scrawled over it; _mom called, needed a hand. Rest up, be back soon._

Rest up, really...Sam scoffs, their last hunt had been five days ago and yeah, he'd gotten knocked around a little but come on he was more than okay by now.

"Sam," Dean says in his ear, "I can hear you grinding your teeth you know?"

Sam sighs and takes calming breath, "Its fine, I just, it was just a dream I guess." He can feel Dean softening from miles away.

"Be back soon Sammy, I'll bring you some good coffee."

"Whatever." Sam mumbles, it was going to take a lot more than coffee for Dean to make up with him. He turns on his heel going back to his bedroom a refreshing shower in mind.

"Sam..." Dean starts in placating tones but Sam stops him.

"See you in a bit, kay?" Hangs up before Dean can return, feels low knowing Dean's focus is off the hunt now, and is probably less than happy...would probably be miserable until he got home.

 _The jerk deserves it,_ he thinks, and swears not to think about it anymore. _Promises, promises,_ his mind taunts back. He rolls his eyes at himself as he steps into the shower and attempts to wash the horrible start to his day away.

He doesn't look up when the bunker door creaks open a few hours later and shuts with a slam. A vente cup of Starbucks espresso is placed under his nose, and god it smells so good Sam almost falls into it face first. He restrains himself however, and moodily pushes it aside, since it's in the way of the book he's pretending to read.

Dean doesn't even blink, is smirking, Sam knows without even looking. He sits with a pleased sigh in the seat across from Sam and props his feet on the table, siping from his own coffee.

"Hmm Sammy," he purrs, "So good, and hot and strong...I can literally fell the comfort and happiness seeping into my bones with every drink." He smacks his lips and smells in the coffee steam with a robust breath.

Sam purses his lips and manages not to smile, shifts uncomfortably in his chair. Dean slurps loudly with his next drink, moans after he swallows("so good") and stretches out more comfortably, a catch in his muscles that Sam unconsciously notices. Dean taps the table with his hand.

"Hey Sammy, if you don't want that..." reaches across the table for Sam's cup.

The younger Winchester strikes out lightening fast, he throws Dean's hand away from his cup. "I'll cut your hand off if you take my coffee," he growls as he takes the lid off his cup and breathes in the hot steam, sighs feeling the stress ease from his body immediately.

Dean smirks and looks very pleased with himself, "Aaaanddd Sammy is back to the land of the living."

Sam glares at him.

Dean chuckles and runs fingers through his hair. Sam can smell the outside on him and the sharp, familiar scent of his sweat. His contentedness sweetens with coffee and Dean's presence but sours too with the thoughts of his brother's shenanigans else where without him.

"You're a dick."

"I know, I know." Dean chuckles and Sam chunks his pen at him. Dean catches it and laughs, tossing it back.

"I can't believe you left without me."

"You needed some rest, you weren't ready to hunt again."

"Bullshit, and I hate you."

"I know you do." Dean smiles sunnily and Sam finally looks up and thinks he looks much worse than he sounds...looks drawn and like he's been through more than few hours away from Sam and the bunker should intel.

"And a note, Dean? Really, after everything a freaking note..." he just breaks off and sips his coffee frowning.

"Oh." Dean deadpans.

"Yeah." Sam answers.

Dean mirrors his frown as they share solemn silence, thinking of the past and the darkness there. Dean seems to realize how what he'd done looked to Sam for the first time. And Sam takes in the wrinkles in his forehead and a little darkness under his eyes, still a nervous tremble about his body from the hunt that should have been gone by now.

Suddenly that horrible fear is back, "You okay?" He asks, leaning forward in his seat.

Dean's eyes are faraway and are slow coming to Sam's. "Uhm," Dean starts, and swallows thickly and Sam knows these signs by heart, has seen them too many times. "Yeah I'm good, sorry...sorry Sammy, about earlier and the note I didn't think, that was careless of me."

Sam frowns, suddenly unconcerned with that. "It's...okay, are you sure you're good? You don't look good." He gets up and rounds on Dean's side of the table. Dean is white, but his smile stretches wide and sincere. Sam is suspicious, knows when Dean is hurt, when he's hiding, when he's lying.

He looks around, "Where's mom?"

Dean's expression darkens at that, "Said she couldn't stay, had somewhere to be."

Sam sighs. Of course, and she didn't know Dean, she wouldn't make him 'fess up to any injuries.

"What were you guys hunting?" He asks, pulling out the chair beside Dean's and sitting down.

Dean lifts his top lift in disgust, "Witch, skeevy old thing too, hate freaking witches."

Sam smiles. "Where'd she get you?"

"I told you I'm fin..." his words are cut off when he stands, the pain making them short and Sam frowns. Dean lets out a breath and then looks down at Sam, "I'm fine, I'm going for a shower."

He walks away and Sam sighs running hands down his face and gets up as soon as Dean is gone, hurrying after him. He stops in his brother's open door spotting clothes already discarded on the floor haphazardly.

"Dean," he calls, "Really..." he waits for any answer, hears Dean moving around in the bathroom. "I just...I just wanna know if you're alright, I woke up and you were gone..." he suddenly can't talk past the lump in his throat. "And I don't know, I freaked...and I just wanna know if your hurt that's all..."

He waits, listening for Dean's answer. Honestly, his pissed. He knows Dean can hide injuries marvelously well from experience, but he can't help but feel somehow betrayed by both of them. By Mary that she allowed Dean to get injured and dropped him off like some bare acquaintance without making sure he was alright. And by Dean who had left the house without him...because ninety-nine percent of the time Dean's heart kept beating because of Sam's extreme care not because of Dean's.

And really they knew nothing of their mom's hunting style. Didn't know if she was cold and calculating, slow and careful, or violent and reckless...and Dean had just left with her without so much as a fare thee well to Sam.

Seriously, his brother was going to get himself killed one of these days.

There was nothing he could do now, though, so he sighs, will be mad at their mom as soon as he knows Dean is okay. Sam is anxious and live with nerves, Dean rarely acted so casual and laid back when he was hurt, Sam could usually see through his lies because he tried too hard. Dean had not tried. He seemed to have been floating along, unconsciously going through the motions, like he didn't even know he was hurt.

He swallows again and steps nervously into his brother's room, "Dean?" He calls again, because there's only silence coming from within.

...tbc

How is Dean hurt? And what does this have to do with Sam's dream of black eyes???!!!

Love stringing y'all guys out lol!!! Leave a REVIEW!!!! ;)


	3. Chapter 3

**To a guest who left me greetings from Germany, thank you;)**

Chapter 3.

 _He can remember every single second of it, you know? Every single moment his heart beat and he didn't care, every single breath that he considered just stopping...remembers every single drop of blood he'd spilt. Every word spoken without a care in the world, every action taken without a shred of responsibility._

 _And while he thought it was freedom at the time now he lives with those memories everyday. And Sam and Cas tell him, "you weren't yourself Dean, it wasn't you"...but it was...mostly. It was him, the torture master, hell's star boy. Black eyes were fun to scare people with and to keep up appearances but the real darkness was within...within him. And the black eyes was the first sign, the first sign that it was surfacing._

 _He can still remember moments when the mark was still on his arm and he caught glimpses of the blackness of his soul through the blackness of his eyes. He would make himself shiver. He would feel the blood he'd spilt on his hands and the mark would purr and glow inside, coiling it's power ever tighter._

 _And Dean would be lost. Because it was inside him...it was him._

 _It was the most terrifying thing Dean Winchester had ever experienced. To know the enemy, to see the enemy, to be powerless against the enemy...to know that he himself was the enemy. Dean had been fighting himself all his existence. The anger at his life, the bitterness of his childhood, the coldness of higher powers...this was something he couldn't fight against._

 _He'd tried in hell, and he'd tried here on earth and he lost. Every. Time._

 _It was the thing that most terrified him in the world. It was the thing that paralyzed him and left him open to all attacks. When he saw black eyes he saw the worst part of himself. The part he didn't know, he didn't understand...the part he couldn't control._

 _And that was why it scared him so badly. Sammy's head had almost been bashed in...he'd thrown away his entire life...abandoned Sam and hunting, their calling. His demon was every single bad thing he'd seen, been on the receiving end of, done, or thought wrapped up into an actual being. A terrifying, mysterious, destructive, vindictive monster._

 _A monster Dean had hunted. But never caught, he had never finished the kill...it prowled on inside him, scratching at the walls built around it in captivity...and Dean never lost the fear, never would let himself lose the fear of the knowledge of what that monster was capable of._

 _In his dreams Sam's head is disformed and bloody, the wall a masterpiece of blood, hair and brains...and the demon is exultant as Dean weeps silent tears, the battered remains of his baby brother sleeping forevermore in his arms._

 _..._

Dean could had sworn that for a millisecond just after Sam spoke to him that his eyes had flashed black. He stands frozen before the mirror, heart beating so fast, practically in his throat...his body and mind screaming _impossible, no!_ He takes a few deep breaths, telling himself it was just in his mind, just exhaustion and creepy witches.

He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes breathing through the panic and the burning pain in his chest. Tries not to think of the way it had felt to be running through the woods after a witch and to not have Sam with him. The way it made him tingle with tension and left endlessly on edge...he'd actually been afraid.

With Sam there was no fear. He wouldn't fight alone, he wouldn't die alone...he could hunt without thought because Sam had his back and the same went for his little brother. But Mary was a loner, she went into the hunt with a one track mind.

Dean had been panting and alone in the dark woods when the witch had jumped him. Mary was no where to be found, somewhere following her own instincts and hunches, probably completely unaware of Dean since the moment the hunt had begun. And Dean didn't mind, in fact, if it wasn't for Sam Dean would probably get lost in the hunt too.

But now he's got five feet nine inches of skinny, bony witch wrapped around his upper body and she's holding his head in between her hands and whispering foreign words into his ear while god, the burning agony inside his skull makes his eyes water and he yells hoarsely against it.

He throws himself back against a tree trunk and hears the _whoosh_ of the breath being knocked from her lungs. With an elbow in her throat she goes limp and falls to the ground. Dean's on his knees, knife raised for the kill when she presses the palm of one hand against his forehead. It's too late to stop his movements, his knife is embedded in her chest with an upward twist that _cracks_ , her breastbone is shattered and her heart stops as bits of bone deflate her lungs.

Her eyes go wide and a current of energy passes between them through her arm and hand pressed to Dean's temple. White, hot agony blooms in his chest, the same exact spot where his knife was embedded in the witch. He feels emotions and memories fly through his mind lightening fast and a feeling as though the energy was searing his eyes.

There's fear, anger, sadness with the farewell of death. His soul is swallowed up with the last dying thoughts of the woman beneath him. The grief and failure surrounds him and makes his heart sink, he slaps her hand from his forehead.

He jerks the blade from her corpse with alarmed panting breaths and steps back, dashing tears he hadn't realized he'd cried from his cheeks. She was gone, she was ended...forever. And he'd done it without so much as a second thought. He tries to choke down the sickness and the dark feeling inside him. He doesn't feel the burning wound that had appeared _under_ his clothes. Doesn't think about the energy she'd passed on to him in her last moments, or the words she had whispered with his skull in between her frail hands. Doesn't think about it again until much later...too little, too late.

...

Sam steps into Dean's bathroom door to find his brother looking at himself in the mirror, white as a sheet. He's shirtless, only making him look smaller and more vulnerable, freckles standing out. There's an odd wound blooming angry and red at the foundation of his sternum and snaking up into the valley of his pectoral muscles.

"Dean?" He asks, peers into the mirror because Dean's staring at it like there's something more to it than just the reflection. "What is it?"

Dean looks down from the mirror and then to Sam, his eyes a little glazed over, "Nothin, I just thought I saw something."

Sam frowns at him and leans down to peer into his eyes, reaching out a hand to steady him with. "Did you get hit on the head too?"

"What?" Dean asks startled and then looks down at his chest as if seeing the wound for the first time. "No my head's fine, I just, I think I'm just tired."

Worry strengthens in Sam's chest, his heart aching with the need to know exactly what the hell happened to his brother. "Sure thing," Sam says with a comforting smile, "Let me look at this first though." He inclines his head towards Dean's chest.

"Ah, yeah." Dean grimaces, though his eyes are already looking droopy and faraway.

Sam leans down and fingers around the destroyed skin, heat emanating from it. Dean's stomach jumps under Sam's fingers and he can only imagine what kind of pain must make Dean that nervous...and then Sam touches it. Brushes over the red skin, parts of it flaky like a really bad burn.

He barely catches Dean's weight when his brother's knees give out from under him. Dean grinds his teeth together, his hand gripped tight around the edge of the sink vanity. Sam is silent just helping Dean stay upright as the pain abates his mind racing trying to figure out what was going on.

"Jesus Sammy," he gasps, "Don't touch it," through gritted teeth.

"Dean, what the hell happened?"

"I don't know, it just hurts Sam. It hurts and my head hurts I want to lay down and go to sleep and..." he looks like he's about to pass out so Sam stops him, decides he can grill Mary for answers once Dean is comfortable.

"Okay okay." He hurries to sooth. "Bed?" And Dean nods taking a breath, and Sam stays right beside him until his big brother is safely on the mattress. "You wanna put something on that?" He asks, pointing his chin at Dean's chest as he fishes out some clean socks for Dean.

"No just, not me or anyone is touching it anytime soon," Dean shivers with the thought, taking the socks and after finding the stretch too painful to put them on he throws them to the other side of room in resigned exhaustion.

"Okay," Sam says softly. Dean lays back and is out like a light making Sam ache with even keener concern. He switches off the lights but stays standing over him for a second. _Please just be alright,_ he begs silently. The terrifying deja vu from this morning and Dean's uncharacteristic behavior filling him with unease and dark thoughts.

He sighs heavily with fingers going through his hair, and quietly leaves the room pulling his phone out. His face grim as he dials their mom, time to find out what really happened on that hunt.

...tbc

ze plot thickens, ahah!

Hope you enjoy! Leave me a REVIEW!? ;);)


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4.

Sam slumps into a library chair as their mom's phone rings and rings...and rings. _I know you're just driving mom, answer the freaking phone,_ he thinks exasperatedly. Dean exhausted and quiet with pain the dazed look in his eyes that was scaring the hell out of Sam...anyone should have picked up on the signs that all was not well with his brother. And what the hell happened to having your partner's back? Basic hunter's etiquette.

Not to mention family, your son's? Sam sighs letting fingers rub at his forehead stressfully. Sometimes he was honestly a little concerned about Mary...how human could she be? With the lack of regard she showed for them...and for their welfare apparently. She had dropped Dean off without even coming in to make sure he made it down the stairs for god's sake.

"C'mon, c'mon," he mutters as he dials her again.

"Hello?" She finally answers, "Sam?"

"Mom, hey." He greets.

"Hey, what's up?" She asks in that cheery, light way she has. At the moment it makes Sam want to grind his teeth.

"Just wanted to ask you about the hunt." He says, getting right to the point, everything having put him on edge, fingering the frayed edge of his button up, and frowning watching the movement.

"What hunt?" She asks, and now Sam is getting pissed. Does she really think he and Dean don't tell each other EVERYTHING? She was lucky to get Dean to come alone this one time, this was one in a million...let alone Dean not telling him once he got back.

"With Dean, the one you just finished?" He says, trying to hold back the bite in his voice.

"Oh yeah," she says with a little laugh, "Something wrong?"

"Well I was hoping you could tell me, Dean's been a little weird."

"Weird? He seemed fine to me."

"Mom." He says shortly, "He's got a wound on his chest bigger than my hand."

"What?" She asks, having the good grace to sound worried and upset.

Sam just closes his eyes and gives a frustrated shake of his head, "What happened exactly?"

"Uhmm," Mary starts, "It was a run of the mill witch hunt, she seemed to be basic Celtic, it was easy, over quick."

"So you didn't see how Dean hurt his chest?" He asks.

"No, I wasn't even there. Dean called me saying it was done, he'd found her and killed her."

"You mean you split up?" Sam asks sharply, growing more annoyed by the second.

"Yeah," Mary answers easily, "Seemed the best, fastest plan. We burned the body, packed up and came straight back to the bunker. He was fine Sam, I swear, I had no idea he was hurt."

"Mom," Sam says through clenching jaws, "Dean doesn't even tell me when he's hurt, you have to back him into a corner and make him 'fess up."

"I'm sorry Sam," Mary says sounding exasperated, "I asked him and he said he was okay."

"Mom, Dean wouldn't say no to you if he were dying." He stands and paces agitatedly. "There is a reason why we don't hunt alone, and more specifically why Dean does not hunt alone...because he is reckless and has an unconscious death wish and..." he really should take a breath before he says something he'll regret.

"And the last thing we need is you just coming around when you need help and separating us when the only reason he hasn't got himself killed yet is because I'm aware enough of him to know he needs someone to have his back..."

"Now hold on Sam..."

"It's MY brother who wasn't even aware of the fact he was hurt and it is also MY brother who is sleeping catatonically after not even being able to string together a proper sentence. So you hold on mom, because now we have no idea what happened and how bad this witch screwed him up."

Sam hangs up. He's panting through his nose as he clenches his fist around his phone and presses the cold metal against his forehead. That did not go the way he'd planned. But what the hell? She hadn't even been with Dean. She had no idea what had happened, how the witch had died. Dean had been alone and vulnerable in those woods, and whatever had happened, had not been pretty.

Sam suddenly sees the open, raw look in his brother's eyes and he tenses with a shiver...so not good. So not right. He feels a rush of panic as he thinks of what Dean could have gone through on his own in those dark woods, where Sam wasn't there for him. And even though Dean is the one who left Sam behind, the younger Winchester feels like he failed somehow...somehow he should have protected Dean.

His brother who was all noble willingness to help his mom or anyone who was in need, who put himself in danger mindlessly and that was Sam's job...Sam's life mission to make sure Dean didn't make the ultimate sacrifice while he served others. And it pissed him off to no end when others didn't see it, didn't respect it.

He pours himself a cup of coffee thinking unrepentantly that he'll make up with their mom if Dean's in the clear... _when_ Dean's in the clear. He makes his way to Dean's bedroom and settles himself with a book in the chair there, praying that this all turns out to be nothing.

...

Sitting in the darkened room with his brother, still and nearly lifeless on the bed only echoes the effects of Sam nightmare. No matter how many times he reads the same line over and over again he ends with the vision of Dean lying there white and cold _gone_ and then eyes opening black as can be.

It never fails to get Sam's blood up, never stops filling him with the very worst fear, panic...hopelessness. That moment when he found Dean's bed empty, one moment where his brother's corpse had rested and now just empty. That moment of disbelief, grief and crushing sense of failure will never leave him. And then the moment when he saw Dean on the security footage and how his heart leaped into his mouth and he hoped...

Actually hoped for a few seconds that his brother had made it back somehow. And then he saw the eyes, soulless, coal black eyes. And then anger, so much anger.

Demons; worst than the very dust of the earth. Like a disease infecting everyone around them, trying to ever darken the pure, foolishly suggestible sons of man. And there was one defiling his sweet, noble Dean.

Sam finds himself hands fisted so tightly around his book he wouldn't be surprised if there was crescent moons in the soft paper of the pages where his nails had embedded in them. He lets his head rest in his hand and just breathe. Just breathe along in time with Dean. Feel his life and presence, know his soul is peaceful and safe inside this room even while he sleeps. Even now imagines he can feel their spirits calling to each other in comfort.

 _(((You left me behind._

 _I'm sorry, won't do it again. Missed you being there._

 _Missed being there.)))_

It's been a few hours when Dean rolls his head over to the opposite side of his pillow, moves over to lay on his side smacking his lips, Sam looks up at the first movement. His brother had been sleeping almost eerily well, breaths calm and deep his chest moving up and down comfortably with them. He still looked whiter than usual and there were black bags under his eyes that had no cause but other than that all was well...

Sam sits up straighter in his chair observing Dean as he wakes. The movement stretches the skin of his chest and he grimaces with the pull. With the feel of the material of his bed sheets rubbing against the wound he comes around. Grunting as he pushes them away from his body and allows Sam an excellent view of the purple and blue bruising blooming nicely from around the red wound.

Dean's eyes finally crack open and immediately find Sam, a smile turning up his lips sleepily as he stretches. Catches himself when he feels pain and soreness. Sam watches a dark look overtake his brother's countenance as he comes back to full consciousness making Sam even more eager to find out exactly what happened with the witch. Dean wasn't usually haunted like this after a hunt.

"Dean?" He says softly, "You back with me?"

"Hey," Dean mumbles under his breath. "What happened?"

"Hoping you could tell me," Sam says, coming to sit on the vacant side of Dean's bed. "You were weird man, like I'd never seen." He reaches out and feels Dean's forehead for a fever.

Dean makes a face and bats away Sam's hand as expected and grunts grumpily, "That don't give you no excuse to go around watching me sleepy." He halts though with the sudden movement and just before he closes his eyes with a deep breath Sam catches a glimpse of that same raw, open look.

Then Dean shrugs, "I don't know, Sammy, I don't remember, I killed the witch and that was the end of it."

Sam frowns deeply, not at all satisfied. But his brother seemed fine, no symptoms from earlier, maybe whatever had happened wore off now that the witch had been dead for a couple of hours. The excuses he makes up only a security because of everything he doesn't know. He hates this, this powerlessness. As if only to make things worse Dean looks down at his chest in surprise.

"Gah, that bitch do this to me? Knew she went way too easy." Dean sits and rubs hands down his face. "I'm starving." Sam feels fear pulse through him again, but doesn't know what else to say. It looked as if what really happened was going to remain a mystery.

"Dean," Sam says simply, "Please don't ever leave me behind like that again."

Dean's face softens and gives Sam a long, calculating look, "Alright Sammy," he concedes. "Alright."

"I'm going to get you something to eat," Sam says rising, but points at him and fixes him with a strict glare before departing. "Don't think for one second you're off the hook, twenty-four hour monitoring."

Dean groans and throws himself back onto the mattress "I'm telling you, I feel fine."

And Sam ignores when his instincts call him a hypocrite for falling for the same tricks Mary had out of fear and desperate hope. Listening to Dean's probably false assurances and choosing to believe them, because that was better and that meant Sam hadn't failed somehow...meant Dean hadn't come to harm, and that was what Sam wanted...wanted so bad.

Dean looks down at his chest once more with confusion, and Sam leaves the room after watching him finger over the wound carelessly. The younger Winchester frowns again as he makes his way to the kitchen and wonders if maybe his own optimistic opinion is catching. Dean seems much better indeed. Too much better.

...tbc

PLEASE REVIEW!;)

:/ sorry I'm a little short of time these days, will write longer chapters when able.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5.

 _They're very nearly the same person, something that has never changed even over all the years. Even after everything that has happened to them, even after all the times they've parted ways, fought and made up...died and come back to a changed and altered sibling. Even then they led each other back to the light, taught each other how to be again._

 _Ever since they can remember it's been this way. They are their own persons, had their own talents and interests, but it was the little things like when they walked side by side their feet hit the ground at the same time. And that was how their souls kept in tandem, how their spirits kept echoing back to each other._

 _For strangers it was difficult to tell between the two. But for themselves they knew each other precisely. They struggled with looking in the mirror, they battled their own demons and they hardly knew themselves. But when they looked at each other they understood. They knew...they loved and cherished._

 _And they didn't even realize that they were more or less looking at themselves._

 _They would never understand that one beautiful characteristic of their relationship, but they would live it out fully, and those around them would marvel at its anomaly. They would live on hating themselves and treasuring each other...and they would never know that they lived a life much fuller than anyone else._

 _Because they loved selflessly...an unconditional love that asked for nothing in return. A love that loved simply for the sake of loving. Because to each other they were the one reason to live on. To fight on. The candle burning in the darkness, the light at the end of the tunnel. They were each other's redemption, each other's lifeline to sanity and morals._

 _They were the very picture of 'as iron sharpens iron, man sharpens man' they constantly drug each other back towards right when they slipped towards wrong...when the darkness grew too thick and murky to see through._

 _They never thought as to what they survived, or why they weren't crazy...they just made sure their brother was alright. There was rarely mindspace spent on self, just a constant eye out for the other...because they knew the other brother was doing the same. And if they didn't watch carefully enough one mistake could be fatal._

 _One mistake could end this. One mistake that would eternally steal one brother away and send the other into the spiral that there was no coming back from._

 _So they looked to each other in this bloody, violent life and they fought on, recklessly towards themselves, so careful to their brother. And they never saw the mirror in each other's eyes when the reflection was love, hope, fear and misery. Never realized that in loving each other so fiercely and selflessly that they loved themselves in the best of ways._

...

He can hear Sam banging around in the kitchen, so Dean gets up and walks stiffly into the bathroom to look at himself in the mirror. He doesn't remember much of the hunt, but he does remember the witch's feelings rushing through his mind, he remembers the flash of black in the mirror. So he stands hesitant before he lifts his eyes to the looking glass.

Brilliant green looks back at him and he sighs with relief, as his eyes drop down to his chest. He remembers the intense pain when Sam had touched it, but now as he gingerly taps his fingers over the edge of the wound he feels nothing but a little sensitivity. He shakes his head to clear it from doubt and to shake off sleep.

He can't help but feel like something is a little off. He's a hunter, trained to know, trained to let his instincts save his life and the lives of others. But he just can't lay his finger on what's wrong. Can feel a certain anxiety burning inside him, his head is aching a little with each pulse of his heart but he thinks it's normal with the aftermath of the hunt and the fogginess from his deep sleep.

His skin is white, which is normal, but he sighs with regret at the dark bags under his eyes; Sam was going to have a hay day with that. There's a certain flush to his cheeks that he can't account for...but that wasn't enough to worry about he decides. Thinks the witch's last throws of power that she had thrust through his mind is probably enough to cause a headache.

He sighs running fingers through his hair and leaves the bathroom. Grabs a shirt and pulls it over his head, shivers with the cold floor under his feet, and grabs the pair of socks he had discarded earlier on his way out the door.

Sam is reading the directions on the back of a box of brownies when he walks into the kitchen. Dean smiles widely and takes a seat at the table.

"Lookee here, _someone_ has finally developed some taste buds." He says and Sam sends him a bitch face.

"They're for after supper." He states drily, as he spoons Dean something into a bowl.

Dean scowls, but looks over interestedly, "What ya got for me?"

Sam slides the bowl under his nose and goes to grab a spoon while Dean smells in the steam contentedly.

"Speghettio's!? Ohhh I love these things, man." That makes Sam smile and Dean takes his spoon happily, digging in.

Sam breaks open the brownie box and empties the mix into a bowl. Adds the oil and water and eggs...

"Make sure you measure it right." Dean mumbles through his supper and Sam rolls his eyes.

"I know how to make box brownies, Dean."

Dean snorts, "Yeah, sure you do."

Sam mouths his words back at him as he begins to stir the brownie batter and Dean chuckles through another mouthful of sauce and noodles.

"So what was up with you this morning?" Dean asks, scraping the edge of his bowl with his spoon.

"Oh," Sam clears his throat, not in a big hurry to share his nightmare with his brother. "I just, you scared me..."

"Sammy..." Dean's low voice lets Sam know that as usual, the big brother in Dean has picked up on his lie.

"It's just that dream you know?" Sam says reluctantly, doesn't even like talking about it in case he jinxes himself into having it again.

Dean just raises an eyebrow and insists, "Which one?"

Sam and Dean rarely talked about their nightmares but they generally learn about the reoccurring ones. Dean's night terrors were a little more abstract than Sam, his mind continuously inventing new ways to torture him. But Sam, he was just riddled with the same endless pain and panic night after night.

And after a couple of months Dean would pick up on the pattern and basically tell Sam what he'd been dreaming. He knew how to comfort Sam, how to reassure him that he was still here, was still very much himself...he was safe, Sam was safe. Dean usually referred to the demon one as 'the one where I'm dead' but Sam has affectionately entitled it 'black eyes'.

"The one where your dead." Sam answers Dean, because he doesn't want him to know, doesn't want to think about the fact he'd rather have his brother safely dead than his soul twisted into a demon. He remembers Dean trying to kill him, stalking him like prey in the bunker...the fathomless black depths of his eyes...and he knows death was a far better end for the good and righteous man his brother was.

Dean nods thoughtfully, licks his spoon clean one last time before leaving it in his bowl. "And then I was no where to be found."

"Yeah." Sam says, and turns away to find a pan to pour the brownie mix into, letting Dean know he's done talking about this. And of course Dean gets it. Been in those same shoes so many times before. Knows talking about something doesn't always fix it, knows some things just simply cannot be fixed. Ever.

Some things leave their mark so deep on us that there is no healing, there is no forgetting.

...

Dean feels sick. Remembers the glimpse of his demon he caught in the mirror earlier. It can't be coincidence. What was wrong with him? He feels hot flashes running over his body, his stomach is suddenly not so thrilled with the spaghettio's.

The wound on his chest blooms with heat and he chokes on his breath, dizziness clouds his vision...the feelings and thoughts in his mind feel somehow foreign, like they aren't his. Feels fear and uncertainty, an age old pain, the same emptiness he'd felt before when he'd lost Sam. A hopelessness he doubts anyone else has ever felt.

He hears himself tell Sam, who thankfully still has his back to Dean, that he'll be back and then he's down the hall heading towards his room. A hand beside him on the wall to keep himself from doubling over with the pain in his head and the dizziness.

The ghost of someone else's feeling and thoughts are floating through his sub conscience and Dean pants as he leans against his closed door. Suddenly he remembers the witch with her hands pressed against the sides of his head, her feelings and dying thoughts flooding through his mind along with the last, powerful strings of her power.

He feels the pain, hot as molten iron spread on his chest as she goes limp and he jerks the knife from her corpse...hears the strange words whispered in his ear in the last throws of their fight to the death.

The pain doesn't abate in his head. Every time he moves it intensifies, he presses his fingers to his temples as he slumps to the floor and grits his teeth. This didn't feel like it had when the witch had forced her thoughts and feelings into his mind, somehow this felt so familiar...almost right. So close to his thoughts but not quite.

There's a terrible loneliness, fear and dread...of something that had happened, but also of something that could happen again. There's a fierce love, one that makes Dean cower in the face of it, feel small and insignificant. There's fond worry, gentle care...Dean blinks once, twice and it's gone.

He knows this person. Rather he knows the person these admirable qualities make up.

Sam.

...tbc

Hope you guys like! REVIEW!? ;)

Hopefully will finally be able to catch up on some writing this week.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6.

Dean falls to sleep on Sam's bed that night while they're watching tv. Or while Sam watches tv and Dean pretends to. His brother squints and peers uncomfortably at the screen, but soon gives up and hides his face in Sam's pillow and is soon breathing deep and easy. Sam lets him be, takes the signs of a headache at face value and turns the sound down.

Sam is restless. He gives up at about two in the morning, leaves his bed and turns the tv off for Dean. Wanders around the library fooling himself into believing he's researching. He leaves dusty books and papers all over the table surfaces and then moves to the maproom table where he sets up his laptop in search of hunt. He gives up on that too when he realizes Dean would need a couple of days to rest up.

He kicks his feet up on the table and rubs his gritty eyes. His mind is so alive it hurts, but his body is crying out for sleep. Stupid dream really screwed him up. Sam got like this sometimes after nightmares, like his body was protecting him from the trauma. Or his subconscious wanted to be awake to make sure Dean didn't go anywhere without him. Whatever, Sam very coherently knew he wanted to stay awake to make sure Dean stayed put where he belonged, sleeping in bed.

He knew he was wired way too tight. It wasn't good for him or his nerves...wasn't good for Dean who picked up on his unease. Sam could tell just from the way Dean slept shallowly while he was awake and nervous in the room with him. Dean would toss and turn, throw his head away from Sam, and then back towards him. His brow would ruffle with whatever he was dreaming about, and then he'd wake up a little and tell Sam to turn off the tv and go to sleep. Urging him to get some rest.

Finally, Sam left him alone. And Dean slipped off into a deeper sleep.

So Sam is left alone with his thoughts.

He doesn't know why he lets it get to him so bad. But sometimes he just can't shake it off. Sometimes it just gets under his skin so severely that he can't put it back to rest.

As the night grows longer and the morning closer he grows sleepier but his mind is still alive and buzzing. The scenes from his dream playing over and over again in his mind's eye. He sees Dean blinking slowly awake like he always does...but there is no familiar, beautiful green only black, fathomless circles.

He feels the first familiar tentacles of insanity rubbing up against his mind. Knows he's torturing himself with this. Knows it's just coincidence that had Dean gone the very morning after he had that dream...try telling his brain that though. "I can't get past it," Sam whispers to himself, "I can't get past this feeling, why can't I get past this feeling?"

It wasn't a feeling Sam was programmed to get past. Inside him, in his wires...in his very foundation, he was programmed to never get past that feeling. He was created to hold on to it, to live off that pain, that loneliness, that anger...and get revenge, get revenge until he got Dean back.

 _Dean is back,_ he tells himself halfheartedly, even as he relives that terrified moment when he discovered Dean's bed empty. _Dean is back, he's safe._

He knows he'll go crazy with the near insanity of arguing with himself, so at seven he gets up from the table and moves to the kitchen where he starts mixing pancakes. Going through the motions shuts up his mind and he feels pretty brain dead by the time Dean appears.

"You look horrible and you need a shower." His brother grumbles all under his breathes if in an afterthought while he pours himself a cup of coffee.

"Yeah, same to you, hotstuff."

And Sam ain't kidding. Dean looks bad. Those darks spots under his eyes have turned into black bags, and his skin is almost chalky.

Dean waves him off with an unconcerned 'humph' and slumps into a seat and hides his face in his folded arms resting on the table. However when Sam takes off his third pancake with a billow of smoke he lifts his head, his face wrinkled with disgust.

"Are you making pancakes or firewood over there, Sammy?"

Sam looks indignant.

"Smells like firewood." Dean informs before letting his head fall back onto his arms.

Sam puts that one under his growing list of 'no comment' and plates his sleepy sibling up two pancakes with a side of bacon which Dean hums much more amiably at. He also pours him a cup of orange juice since Sam feels like he needs to hydrate. Dean gulps down the juice without any provocation and drowns the slightly blackened pancakes with syrup before wolfing down all the bacon.

He sends Sam an 'I told you so' face when he tries to cut a bite from one of the pancakes and his fork only causes a dry, hard sound. Sam just gives him a smile because the pancakes weren't for eating they were a distraction and it had worked for a little while.

But now he's watching Dean and he's telling himself, _he's here, he's alright...what is wrong with you? Why won't you just be okay?_

To Dean's credit he does actually try to eat the pancakes. He gives up about three bites in, tosses back half a cup of coffee and then gets up to leave the kitchen.

"Where ya going?" Sam asks, watching him with burning, tired eyes.

"To the dentist." Dean quips back. "What do I tell them when they ask why all my teeth are chipped? Should I make up a lame story or tell them the even lamer truth...death by my little brother's pancakes..." he sighs dramatically and barely dodges the roll of paper towels Sam throws after him.

He sighs at the mess in the kitchen, but is thankful for it as the next distraction. He so doesn't notice the way his fingers shake, or the way he bites the side of his mouth to keep from calling Dean back. God, he needs some sleep. This can't go on for that much longer.

 _I'm okay,_ he thinks _, we're okay._

...

Dean dreams. He sees Sam with glowing yellows eyes trapped inside a devil's trap, tall, hungry flames coming closer and closer until they're lapping away at Sam and he's screaming...screaming, crying out for Dean.

pleasehelpmewhyarentyouhelpingmedean...itsmeplease...

And Dean well, Dean doesn't. And suddenly he's watching from a third person point of view and he can see himself watching Sam burn alive with obsidian black eyes. There's a mischievous grin tilting his lips upwards, and Dean can nearly feel the demon purring happily inside him...and he doesn't not like it...that's the finishing torturous touch that has Dean waking in a cold sweat thrashing around in Sam's sheets...he doesn't not like it...

...he likes it.

He knows first thing that Sam is long gone. Knows that faraway, 'caught in the headlights' look, it's when Sam has trouble defining between nightmares and reality. And Dean gets it, it happens to him too. He knows his brother just needs time to see him and feel him and hear him to know that Dean is alive and very much here and _not leaving your side Sammy._

Knows that this is the only way to convince Sam's brain that he's still alive and still himself again.

Second thing he notices is the outrageously painful headache he's sporting and the third is the smell of burning food. _Sammy located then_ , he thinks with a fond grimace with the thought of his kitchen. He stands and thankfully doesn't face plant into the floor.

He can feel the color drain from his face with the dizziness and the sudden pain at the change to vertical posture. He swallows back the need to be sick and his hand finds the wall to support himself as he struggles to the mirror...the dream still partly alive in his mind...still making his heart beat extra fast.

To his near surprise his eyes are clear green. He sighs deep in relief, lets his eyes fall shut to gather his wits entirely about him before facing his ever observant little brother. He pads clumsily down the hallway until he nearly falls through the kitchen doorway.

Sam looks up when he walks in and Dean only chokes back his laugh because of the worry that spikes in his chest. Sam looks awful and for all the world insane. His hair is greasy and pointing in every direction, there is flour in it and all over the right side of his face and the smoke billowing up from the stove surrounds him only lending him an even crazier look.

Dean is hiding from the bright lights of the kitchen and waiting for Sam to serve him breakfast with his head on his arms when he first feels that burning sensation again. It starts tingly and warm in the center of his chest and then suddenly he's being swamped with strange feelings again.

Such a mixture of emotions...fear, anger...desperation and love...hope above all hope accompanied by the worst loneliness, he can almost taste the insanity in the intense combination of it. He chokes back a groan of pain as waves after waves crash into his conscience.

He struggles coughing down all his breakfast to make Sam happy, doesn't now how he bears to do it, how he makes it through. But he does, and makes himself swallow down an extra cup of coffee so he can stay awake longer and away from the dreams longer.

The pain in his head is nearly unbearable as he leaves the kitchen. And if he hadn't been nearly blind with the sheer agony he might have realized that it was Sam unconsciously crying out to him...so much fear...so unsure, _need to see you Dean, to know for sure..._

And he might have asked, _what are you so afraid of, Sammy_?

And if he had he would have gotten his answer in his reflection, because when he stumbles into his room and peers into his looking glass there are his eyes looking back at him...black as can be.

He falls away from the mirror his hands over his own eyes, blocking the terrible truth from anyone who might be looking. He sits there on the floor with his back pressed to the wall panting and shivering with dread until he builds up the courage to glance at his reflection again.

His eyes blink back at him, green and clear and his soul sighs with relief, as his mind cries out with the strain on his sanity. He falls to a seat on the edge of his mattress trembling, thankful tears in his eyes even as he stares dazed and confused into space, shaking fingers running through his short hair thinking, telling himself desperately...

 _This can't go on for that much longer..._

tbc...

Hope you enjoy...the plot thickens. Will the boys even stay sane long enough to figure out what's wrong with Dean? REVIEW!? ;):)

((((and apparently stressed out Sam tries to cook a lot lol...I like the picture:)))


	7. Chapter 7

**(((Could a guest who identified themselves as "Jensena" contact me? On here in the PM's or maybe on my Instagram myloverspn ? If you could it would be awesome. ;))))**

Chapter 7.

By Sam's count it's been about thirty-six hours since he slept and eight hours since Dean made an appearance. After his breakfast of burned pancakes his big brother had disappeared and stayed gone, leaving Sam alone with his demons. The younger Winchester grows more frustrated and exhausted by the hour listening to the high buzzing noise in his ears, and head ache ever growing from his tired eyes.

Sam is itchy and restless in his own skin and buzzing with all the coffee he's had. He feels like he can hear the electricity running the lights in the library, hears it popping and fizzing as is goes into his laptop from the charger cord. He's hyperaware of everything going on around him. Hears the water pressure change in the walls as Dean starts a shower, he grits his teeth trying to imagine what Dean could have been doing all day that was so important.

His right knee bounces up and down unconsciously, he taps the fingers of one hand on the table as he stares at the clock on one of the bookshelves...god, it's ticking had never been so loud. Had never been so loud for so long. It's quiet tick had been mocking him since he'd sat down to research this morning, mocking him, laughing at his loneliness. Feeding into his fear of being alone, playing on his already on edge nerves, driving him closer and closer towards his breaking point.

The bright screen of his laptop is shooting barbs of pain from his eyes and into his brain, and he slams the lid shut with frustration. Digs his fingers into his eyes and rubs roughly, trying to drive out the burning grittiness. He hears Dean's door grind on its hinges as it opens for the first time and listens to soft, stealthy sounding footsteps make their way towards the kitchen. He's on his feet walking quickly to join his brother before he knows what he's doing.

Sam has reached his breaking point.

And he's worried, god, Dean was hurt, and nearly unconscious less then twenty-four hours ago. He still doesn't know what happened to Dean, doesn't know what his brother might be dealing with. Hasn't caught sight of that wound, which he would really like to check on.

But Dean had left to go on that hunt without him, Dean had shut himself up in his bedroom for the whole day, Dean was eating without him, without asking if he wanted something...

...Dean was blocking him out. And that, that hurt the worst. Dean hadn't shut him out in months and months. He'd been Dean's equal and companion. Dean had stopped hiding and being ashamed that he needed his little brother. He'd stopped being embarrassed that they needed each other to survive...and he had fought for it, been proud of it.

And Sam had thrived on that, had found a whole new level of purpose with it. They were closer to each other that ever before...maybe that was why this felt so much harder.

And he can't do it. Sam can't stay awake any longer by himself with his own stupid, insane thoughts. Knows he'll go insane for real. And he's frustrated and high on caffeine and lack of sleep, he's scared and lonely and he feels like Dean has been avoiding him when really what he needs is Dean to be there for him...just needs Dean to be there.

Doesn't need him to talk, or touch him and be close, or even to look at him, just to simply be there.

He's desperate and sad and feels like his heart has been shattered every single time he relives that nightmare over again. He's sore from all the hours sitting in the library chairs and he's thirsty and hungry because Dean hasn't been there forcing survival on him. He just wants his brother.

And maybe he doesn't even know what that ache in his chest is, why he feels like he's about to just break into pieces and cry on someone's shoulder, but that is simply what it is. He needs Dean, he's been without him when he needed Dean to be strong for him, when he needed Dean to convince him that they were both still alive and well, and _real_ and together.

So no, he doesn't even realize the ache pulsing away, and the indignant spark of little brother anger deep inside him is really just _disappointed_.

...

The shame rankling in Dean's chest is sharp, sharp like a knife. That and the knowledge of what Sam is struggling with keeps Dean safely barricaded behind his bedroom door. He can't even imagine all the ways seeing Dean with black eyes could destroy Sam right now.

There's also so much fear. Dean is honestly afraid. Here in the bunker this was the only enemy they ever had to fear...themselves. Dean's demon let loose on their home and an unsuspecting Sam would have unfathomable consequences. Consequences Dean had no desire to explore.

The headache never fully went away. Throughout the day it would soften to a dull undertone in the back of his head, but then it would come back in full force pounded away forcing him to his knees, skull cradled carefully in his palms.

It's the cruelest form of torturous fascination. He can't help but glance fearfully into his mirror every time it worsens...he's just waiting for those telltale black eyes to look back at him. He's going stir crazy in the small room but every time he puts his hand on the door knob he imagines his little brother's face if he ever met Dean with black eyes again.

He snacks on MnM's and watches Disney movies on Netflix until he thinks he'll go crazy. By the time he's watch his way through some classics like 'The Hunchback Of Norte Dame', 'Pocahontas' and 'Lady And The Tramp' he's passed his afternoon away rather musically and a whole lot too emo for Dean Winchester.

He gets up and grabs some clean clothes before heading into his bathroom and shedding his pj's. Stares at his pale skin with a little shock and disbelief, but doesn't know why, hella weird things happen to him...

The wound on his chest is enflamed. If Dean hadn't seen plenty of wounds like this before he would have been scared. What does scare him though is the way it's growing. Smaller tendrils spreading from it, splaying over his pecs and twisting up between his collar bones, reaching down over the faint lines of his abs.

Gone are the times when it was only a little sensitive to the touch. When Dean takes off his shirt the cool air against the freshly exposed wound makes his eyes water with the burn. He bites his bottom lip as he waits for the pain to abate, he decides to be stupid and gently ghosts his fingertips over the wound.

He slams his hand flat against the vanity when he does it. The pain, like fire, spreads through his whole body and is nearly debilitating. And almost exactly the same way it felt when Sam had touched it when he first got home.

Dean takes a deep breath before letting go of the vanity and leaning against the shower wall as he turns on the water. Doesn't take the time to dwell on the how bad the water is going to hurt. He moves as fast as he can, doesn't let himself feel the pain.

Stands panting and sweatier than he was before the shower when he's done, dripping wet and his eyes shot red. He towels through his hair, grimaces with the stretch it causes to the wound. Sighs frustrated at his reflection because he's bitten his lip so hard it's bled and swollen, Sam will definitely notice that.

He leans over to pull on his pants and socks, the head rush it gives him is agony, and he peers into the foggy mirror trying to see if his eyes have gone dark again, wants to figure out what causes this...is it actually his eyes, or his mind? Has he finally gone crazy?

He can't tell if he's dizzy from the need to eat something substantial or from his headache and the affects of whatever was wrong with him. For the first time he thinks about going to Sam. Asking for his help. Letting someone other than just him bear the burden...being able to ask his smart as hell brother, _what is wrong with me?_ Thinks about telling him everything... _my eyes were black._

He just can't, he can't say those words to Sammy. He shivers even thinking about it. The hate and self-loathing that fills himself is enough, he can't bear for Sam to know, to see...

It's later than he thought...time having gotten away from him, he blinks and turns away from the mirror, prays that Sam won't find him while he's in the kitchen getting food. He opens his door and pads out quietly, slips into the kitchen and starts making a sandwich.

Dean's just so tired, he's tired of fighting against this alone, he's tired of having to fight this fight. He's battled against his demon before...he knows he can't win...he needs Sam to win. His little brother is in a fragile enough state of mind right now. But his heart, soul is weary with being alone...they're calling out for their mate and Dean's about ready to give up and ashamed or not crawl to Sammy and let him deal with the whole mess while Dean sleeps this monumental headache away.

"What are you doing?"

Dean jumps and looks behind him to see Sam leaning against the door jam. He looks even more terrible than at breakfast, his eyes are on fire and he looks like he's at the end of his rope (and god, Dean feels the same exact way) and Dean's seen this look before...desperation, confusion, fear...all creating an anger.

"Making a sandwich?" Dean says, cracking a grin and holding out the finished product to Sam, offering it to him as a token of peace.

Sam just looks at him blankly, with an expression of disbelief in his eyes. "You don't talk to me all day, and that's all you've got?" Sam asks, unbelievingly, stepping into the kitchen. "Making a sandwich?"

Dean flinches with the anger in Sam's tone and takes an unconscious step back. The heat on his chest flames up with Sam's presence, temperature heightens with his words. He wraps a protective arm around his middle and keeps his eyes carefully on his brother. He feels the cold trickle of someone else bleeding into his mind and he fights against it for the first time.

Doesn't want to feel Sam's anger any more than he already is, in his mind it's like an ice cold brand searing into his subconscious. He swallows thickly around the lump of nausea in his throat, backs into the kitchen counter and leans against it heavily. Sam is at the island by now watching him with those eyes.

"What is wrong with you? Why are you avoiding me?" Sam demands, but Dean's the big brother, he detects the edge of desperation there.

"I'm not avoiding you, Sammy..."

"Really?" Sam scoffs, runs fingers through his hair, hands over a face that badly needs to be shaved.

"Really!" Dean snaps, and turns his back on Sam to close the fridge. That proves to be his mistake. Sam is on him in a breath, has him by the shoulder jerking Dean around to face him.

"I don't know what's going on with you Dean," he shouts, "But it's not my fault, stop taking it out on me!"

"I'm not..." Dean starts, pushing back against his brother but Sam shoves him back harder, one of his large palms on the center of his chest.

"First you leave on a hunt without me, then you just shut yourself in for an entire day and..."

And Dean can't breathe.

Sam's hand is molten hot on his chest and Dean can feel it, feel it building up with pressure in his head, he's going to scream with it...god Sam is angry. Angry and confused, and he's scared and lonely, that dream...it was holding on longer than usual. _What's wrong, Sammy?_ He wants to ask, but Dean can't deal with that right now, can't think. Can feel his eyes watering and he's not sure they're just smarting, he's actually crying with the pain. He feels the warmth growing on the front of his shirt, the pain of split skin and shoves his brother away as hard as he can.

Sam's hand comes away violently red with Dean's blood.

Dean slams a hand down on the cabinet as he doubles over, breathing through the pain, hears himself coughing, thinks it's miracle he hasn't puked all over the floor.

Because now there's so much more filling his mind. Sam is frozen and horrified, but Dean's head is still filled with his anger and there is a cacophony in Dean's skull, but he's able to pick out the words, _you're a killer, you're a monster_.

His breath is frozen in his chest as he gazes at Sam certain his eyes are pitch black.

But Sam just looks from his hand to Dean's chest where the t-shirt is slowly soaking with red blood, his face broken, bottom lip caught between his teeth, eyes shiny with desperate tears. And slowly Dean is becoming aware of the agony emanating from his senses. He realizes he can't breathe because of the stretch on his skin, and when he does suck in a gulp of air, he groans with the pain of it.

Dean looks down and away as Sam looks up at the sound and a tear slips down one of his cheeks as he reaches out that same bloody hand, now so gentle, "Dean I..."

But Dean's instincts have clicked in by now, and he's no condition to fight. So flight it is. Sam cannot see his eyes, he can't see them...

"Dean please, I'm sorry!" Sam yells brokenly as Dean brushes past him and basically runs from the room.

He hears his little brother coming after him, and shuts and bolts his door just in time. Dean hits his floor, back against the wall with his head in both hands hot tears of agony seeping from under his screwed shut eyes.

"Dean please lemme in..." he hears vaguely, as he pants through the constant stream of emotions that aren't his and the burning agony enveloping his chest.

 _What is happening to us?_ He wonders as he feels such heartache and misery flood his mind and hears Sam hit the floor on the other side of his door, sitting to wait for Dean to come out or let him in. His hands hover over his chest as he looks down at the bloody mess of his t-shirt, somehow he doubts there's any help for it, hopelessness fills him as more scalding, unconscious tears fall down his face and muddle his vision.

 _What is happening to me?_

...tbc

Oh. My. Gosh.

PLEASE REVIEW!? ;);)


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8.

Sam dashes cold tears from his cheeks in frustration as he paces in front of Dean's door agitatedly. He doesn't get to cry, this was all his fault...god, Dean was bleeding, he'd made Dean bleed. And here he thought they were getting closer. He should have known, should have been able see that Dean was hiding because he was hurting, wasn't hiding from Sam.

And now he was the bad guy, Dean was in there alone and bleeding and wouldn't listen to him. His chest tightens even more as he remembers the wild panicked look in Dean's eyes, something was really wrong with Dean. And it just adds to Sam's desperation...because he needed his brother, he needed Dean and he wanted Dean to need him too.

He makes himself stop and breathe because he feels there's a pacing beast inside him about to bust Dean's door down, and that definitely wasn't the approach. His eyes are burning, his heartbeat pulsing in his ears...too long since he ate, too long since he slept...and then Dean.

Sam lays his forehead against the door, his hand on the door knob, squeezes his eyes shut.

"Dean...please lemme in." He manages out through his scratchy throat. "Please, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you...I just, I was worried and..." he breaks off hearing himself from the kitchen chewing Dean out. Knows Dean is no where near ready to listen to his excuses, if he can hear him at all.

His brother had looked stuck in his own head, looked trapped and in pain. Sam pulls his hair in anger at himself as he slides down the wall and sits with his back against it, holds his head in his hands after propping his elbows on his bent knees. He turns his head towards Dean's door.

"I can't help you if you don't let me in." He pleads softly.

And if he listens carefully he can hear Dean breathing heavily just a few feet away. Can hear the wet slurring in it, something Dean only does when he's hurting so bad he isn't aware of anything else. Can hear the hitch in those breaths that is Dean shivering with the pain or the shock or actual cold Sam doesn't really care...Dean is hurting, bad.

This is real. This isn't a dream, isn't something Sam is trying to forget. His brother is alive, is himself, and is hurting. And Sam knows Dean is in no place to accept help right now. He's scared and in pain alone in the darkness of his room. And Sam knows the telltale signs of fever, knows Dean is probably a little disoriented right now...but knows bottom line sooner or later he will want Sam enough to come and find him.

Will need Sam, like Sam needs him...and Sam can wait. Can wait until the fear and the fever wear off, until Dean can recognize that Sam isn't a threat and let Sam take care of everything. As Sam accepts all these things he feels a certain amount of peace wash over him...and maybe they really are both going crazy...

But Dean's blood is coating Sam's skin...

Dean's blood. Dean was still alive, he was alive and right on the other side of that door and as Sam rubs the drying reddish substance off his skin, he relaxes against the wall, lets his head fall back against it. He can wait. No matter what's going on he can wait for Dean to come back to him.

He lets himself fall into a false sense of _safe, right_ for the first time in two days, here listening to Dean breathe. Assures himself all will be well when Dean opens the door and they are together again. Knows he can make it better, whatever is wrong with Dean he can make it better...because Dean was alive, and he wasn't a demon, and he wasn't trying to kill Sam...and that stupid dream couldn't have a hold on him anymore because Dean is right here, _Dean is right here...Dean is right here..._

"I'm gonna stay right here," he tells Dean gently, here whenever Dean is ready to come out, "I'm right here." _you are right here, you're real... ?_

His mind is lazy and slow at best, Dean is safe and whatever is going on...this isn't how the dream goes so their safe right? Right. All his energy has gone into thinking and studying this nightmare...knowing it detail by detail, knows every second, every feeling...this isn't it...he and Dean are secure and alive.

The lights are soft and glowing through his burning eyes, small details swimming and merging together, his limbs are growing warm and heavy, his exhausted instincts betraying him lending him a false sense of security with his brother so close. Forgets there is so much still between them...Dean's wide, frightened eyes...his brother's blood on his skin.

But Sam's mind is tired, tiptoeing along the fine line into the realm of insanity...and Dean's blood is nothing but reassuring to him right now...Dean's heart is still beating, Dean is still breathing, Dean is alive...Dean is still with him.

Listening to his brother's slowly calming breaths through the thin piece of wood separating them Sam falls asleep for the first time in more than forty eight hours.

...

It's a severe chill that brings Dean back a bit. His entire body is wracked with shivers, but his skin is hot and tight stretching over his bones, he can feel it, like it may spilt and unfurl from him every time he moves. Every time he moves the change in the air makes him shudder but he knows he has to get up...knows he can't go on like this.

He can't hide forever.

Using the wall to help him gain his feet Dean sways a little once he's standing. It's dark in his room, though he's not sure he could see much through the dizziness anyways. He can still feel Sam through the door. Like a thunderstorm of emotions hovering over his mind and Dean is already shaking, but he's that scared of that onslaught, scared of the pain that fills his head every time.

But it's not Sam inside his head now. It's strange and dark and god, to not going away this time.

He manages to get to the get to the bathroom and turns on the light. Grimaces at the way it shoots even more barbs of pain in his mind, listens to his heavy breaths as he leans against the wall making his way towards the mirror. Wondering what he will find there...

 _I can't go back down that road, I can't be that thing again..._

He gasps in a sobbing breath of horror, frozen, can't run anymore from the thing in the mirror...himself.

Fathomless, expressionless black eyes gaze back at him.

He wasn't a demon though he, he felt like himself. But would he know, really? How could he be certain? And Sam was just outside the door. Sam was sitting there waiting for him, worrying about him, trusting him. Dean wraps his arms around himself trying to maintain some warmth, trying to get his thoughts in line through the pain that is muddling everything.

As he walks back into his room he presses a hand to the left side of his head in hopes of somehow staunching the flow of power, or pain. He can feel it inside him a constant feed of energy ripping through his mind, digging into the recesses of his conscience, digging out fears and thoughts he had buried long ago.

He sees himself as hell's master torture and sees himself with a hammer stalking his brother down in their own home and he knows. He knows he has to get out of there. For Sam's sake.

He won't kill his brother, he simply won't. Even if he is a demon he WON'T kill his brother. Sam has to be safe...Sam has to be saved at all costs. He leans to grab his boots and manages to slip his socked feet into them, wrestles into a coat ramming his shoulder into his chest of drawers and hissing with the way it burns his wound.

He takes nothing else, no keys, no wallet, no phone...won't be tracked...won't infect Sam with this disease he can't shake. He sighs deep standing in his room. Saying goodbye to the one place he's called home, saying goodbye to all the good, safe, warm memories he and Sam have made here, swears someday he'll come back, someday when he and Sam are safe...someday.

Dean cracks open his door, winces at the light from the hallway, holds one of his palms up in his line of sight to block it. Sam is like a sweet sleeping dragon there at the door, smacks his lips when Dean disturbs him by stepping out into the hallway. And Dean would laugh at him if his heart wasn't breaking. Shattering into a million pieces.

He smiles softly, blinks rapidly to clear his swimming vision, licks the wet salt tears off his top lip. Spreads out a hand to run his fingers over that beloved chestnut head in a phantom farewell one more time, catches himself just in time, jerks his hand back to contain himself and to keep from waking his little brother up.

"Love you, Sammy." He manages in a hoarse whisper before turning on his heel and leaving, turning his back on his whole world in order to save it. Knows even though Sam may never give up looking for him...at least he would still be alive. It was a sacrifice he judged worth taking, a burden he would happily bear.

 _Goodbye Sammy._

...

He can't say what wakes him up. He'd been dreaming again. He'd woken just as he lies Dean's corpse on his bed, just as he had turned his back, as soon as Dean was out of his line of sight...but he never wakes up in the middle of a nightmare. His body forces him to live through the complete torture. He jumps, his neck protesting from sleeping sitting up against the wall.

His hands are shaking with adrenaline and from the cold of sitting on the floor. He runs his them down his face to ground himself in the here and now. It's dark, some light bleeding from down the hall and from within Dean's room, the bathroom light was on. Dean's room...

Dean's door was open.

Sam is on his feet in a breath, his heart soaring with hope and worry. He steps into the room slowly, looking around for his brother. "Dean?" He asks gently, steps to the bed and can see from the light from the bathroom that it's empty, sheets left haphazardly tossed away. Finds the bathroom empty too.

Suddenly he's there in his dream, turning away from Dean's bed, can't see him, can't hear him, can't feel him...because he's already gone. Gone to this world; gone to Sam. No more smiles, no more jokes, no more loving looks. His best friend, his partner, his brother...his reason to live and to fight and to be. Simply gone.

And suddenly he's back to just a year and a half ago when he'd carried his brother's body home, laid it in his bed, washed it...wasn't ready to say goodbye just yet so he'd turned away. Taken his eyes off Dean, left him alone and vulnerable and he'd lost Dean for the second time that night. And now there's that same hollowness in his chest. That same silence ringing in his ears, that instinct and pain aching away so deep inside him letting him know something is very, very wrong. Then he's racing down the hall towards the library, the map room, and the door there, hands fisted, his heart in his throat while he screams;

"Dean?!"

...tbc

Ooohhh it's getting so good. :);) Hope u enjoy! More coming soon, REVIEW!


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9.

With every step the pressure in his head and the ringing in his ears grows worse. Echoes of whisperings of his past crowding his mind and pushing around brutally to make more room. He's nearly doubled over with it by the time he's gasping in the library leaning against one of the book shelves.

The way the now bloody wound on his chest is pulsing and burning lets Dean know he's the midst of severe wave of whatever this was. His own feelings and thoughts voice themselves in his ears, echoes of Sam's feelings and thoughts endlessly pound on his brain. He grits his teeth as his vision blurs and the room spins, Dean knows bad vertigo, he's had it before...this was bad.

He loses all since of direction and when he comes back he's on his knees, his agonizing head grasped in his hands. The bunker smells familiar around him, the air cool, sending a fresh round of shivers over his feverish body. He groans as he pushes himself upwards. Keeps the heel of one hand pressed comfortingly to his temple.

When he stands he wants to hurl, but grips the back of the one of the chairs to keep himself upright and waits for the room to right itself and stop doing circus tricks. His body is miserably cold and then intolerably hot, a furnace burning up under his clothes. Frustrated, he wipes cooling tears from his heated cheeks and resolutely takes a step towards the map room.

There is nothing he would like more than to go back to his room, trip over Sam's creepily long legs and wake him up, let him deal with the rest of the situation. But Dean can't do that. A good big brother wouldn't do that. And Dean is a good big brother. Even now he feels Sam on the edge of his conscious. Can feel him restless and scared in his dreams, can feel him pleading and gasping, _not again, please, not again._

And Dean can't do that to Sammy, can't put him through this again. He can't turn back, so he doesn't. And he clenches his jaw, fists his hands, blinks blearily through the lights going all together in his vision. Knows he can do it, has done harder things before...has left Sam for his own good before.

He chokes down a sob at that thought, and his feet feel like there are cinder blocks attached to them. He pushes himself on, pushes himself away...farther still. _Get away from Sammy, get away from Sammy._ Even as everything inside him screams out and struggles to crawl inch by inch back to his little brother.

And he forgot about the stairs.

His knees go out from under him and he ends up in his back, head smacking on to the concrete steps. His vision blacks out as the room swirls and twirls around him and he gasps for breath, his back and chest aching with the fall. Before he can recover and lift himself from the floor the pain in his head intensifies unbelievably.

The agony melts into a freezing burn turning his insides into goo and shoving more and more unwanted emotions and feelings and happenings into his minds eye. Can feel Sam's anger and mourning, can see him lying Dean's own corpse gently in his bed. Can feel his little brother's inner torment and everything in him cries out against it.

He was trying to protect Sam from this, he was leaving to protect him from this. With Sam's rising panic the pressure in Dean's head grows and grows. He gasps for breaths there on his back, still laid over the steps, blinking rapidly at the ceiling. The shivers wracking his body doesn't take away the hell's fire within his veins, and the disorienting fever doesn't relieve him of the knowledge that his eyes are black as can be.

Doesn't take away Sam's emotions and thoughts, doesn't let Dean forget about the torture he's feeling Sam go through. The loneliness, the fear, the unjustness of their lives...of Dean's life. Can feel it like knives all along the inside of his skull Sam pleading with him to come back to him, Sam pleading with him not to abandon him...and he can't... _I can't Sammy._

He grasps both hands around his head as his body begins to spasm with the high pitched screaming of all the voices in his head, the pain that makes him want to crawl out of his own skin, feels silky wetness drip from his nose down to his mouth and tastes bloody copper on his tongue.

 _I'm dying_ , he thinks vaguely as everything goes dark around him and his body goes blissfully numb except for one feeling...a feeling he is all too familiar with. Loss.

 _Oh my god, Sam, sorry, so sorry, didn't mean to leave you...didn't mean to leave you all alone._

"I'm so sorry Sammy." He whispers, and then there is nothing.

...

This time was a lot different. As Sam runs through the bunker's halls he hears Dean's phantom voice, _I'm tired of playing, let's finish this game!_ And Sam shudders because now he's the one chasing Dean, and _please wherever you are De, please don't leave me alone, please..._

And call it their bond, or his brotherly instincts but he can feel the urgency of the situation, can feel Dean calling out to him in his last efforts, can feel Dean waning, his very essence lessening and lessening until Sam can't feel it anymore and...

Now Sam really can't breathe.

He stops short in the library, at first not seeing Dean. At first thinking he's too late and Dean has made it out the door, has left him...and then he sees the figure a few yards away, crumpled and seemingly forgotten on the stairs and his heart stops. Because he can't feel his brother, and Dean's not moving, he's not talking, he's not anything...and that's not Dean. Dean is all action and work and love and loud.

And now all he wants is for Dean to have left him, because now he dreads deep down in his gut that his brother has left him _for good._

He's in his dream, yes that's it, this can't be real. Sam tells himself over and over again he can't be seeing this...and yet he is. And he's suddenly so afraid the last few threads of sanity he'd been holding onto are slipping away from him. He's wide eyed, frozen and he can't accept that this is reality.

As he approaches there is Dean lying over the steps, shirt bloody, face bloody...still and cold...already gone. He chokes on his breath, feels himself sway as the time passes and his body aches with the need for air. And Sam welcomes it, welcomes the pain...anything, because right now he feels absolutely nothing.

He's stuck in his head, he's not even sure he's seeing this for real. He's standing over his brother's corpse and he can't move, can't speak, can't believe...won't believe. Not this way, not his big brother. Not Dean Winchester.

All the silences that have been between them, all the emotions he's been hoarding away...to protect Dean. And now they'll never talk about them, he'll never draw comfort from Dean's _alive warm_ smile and eyes. Dean's reassuring touches, his comforting gestures of love and companionship.

He'll never be able to say to Dean that yes, he has nightmare upon nightmare about him being a demon, but he doesn't really care about the demon, doesn't care about the thing that they hate and fight against...it was simply just another way for Sam Winchester to lose his brother.

He had never built up the courage to confessed it before, hadn't eased his brother's sore conscious...but that was Sam's true demon. And now he's face to face with it. Dean was gone, Sam's everything...what he doesn't know how to live without, what he can't live without...what he won't live without. Now he stands terrified, frozen over the remains of his whole world.

In some recess of his mind he doesn't want to let the nightmares win, doesn't want to do here to Dean, what he always does in that dream. But he's not in control as he falls to his knees and gathers his brother's limp form up against him, holds him tight, hides his face from this reality, in the only protection he's ever known...in Dean's shoulder...

 _...never letting go, never letting you go._

...tbc

oh my gosh ! I love this! Okay, more coming soon! REVIEW!? :);)


	10. Chapter 10 (Bonus Chapter)

Chapter 10.

All is quiet. All is still. The bunker is silent, its air undisturbed, the clocks ticking away as usual. Everything is as it should be, it's clean and kept, a bit dusty but in the old antique way, not in a gross way. The halls are calm and cool, small rooms tucked away waiting to be someone's own private corner.

There is everything here for one to make a home out of. And there is proof all around that someone has done just that. There's pillows and blankets in the stuffed, leather chairs in the library. There's coffee, and flavored creamer in the fridge, there's cheap beer and expensive liquor. There is scented shampoo and Egyptian cotton towels in the bathrooms with mouthwash and floss.

In the chest of drawers there's old worn, cotton tees, somebody's long time favorites. In the closets there's coats and suits hung up...keepsake boxes shoved into their dark recesses, the owners even trying to deny their existence. There's cologne and razors on the desks beside hunter's journals, and stubs of pencils left discarded on sheets of drawing paper covered in sigils sketched by memory.

And there are pictures. Old photographs that reflect the old, deep things etched on the hearts of the residents. Better times, not so good times...pictures left folded in books, behind a lamp or radio...the bunker is finally a home. For the first time someone has come and made themselves belong. It had taken some coaxing but it had become a warm, safe, comfortable place. The Winchester's home.

It's a big building, the silence and the air can be stuffy and overwhelming sometimes. Like now. The whole place is holding its breath and the sacred silence is nearly crushing. Sam Winchester holds his fallen sibling close and his broken sobs are the only sound breaking the stillness around the two brothers.

When things happen somewhere...it changes the place. Maybe it's just in people's heads; or maybe the very land, the very wood and plaster that shapes a house feel the wrongness, the sorrow of what happens within its walls. If the bunker was alive it would have trembled for its children.

As it is, the only home either boys have ever known cradles them gently. Is silently present in this earth shattering moment. It holds its breath for them, is still in respect for them. Until Sam Winchester screams.

Screams against this reality, screams against the unfairness, the injustices of the world outside the bunker. Screams with the death like pain in his heart, screams as a piece of his soul withers and dies...screams into his brother's shoulder, muffled and terrifying, over and over and over again.

Then the bunker trembles right down to its foundation.

...tbc

(((Wrote this and it left me with some violent feels, so I thought maybe it should stand alone before the next chapter.)))


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11.

The thing that brings Sam back is his brother's body shaking in his embrace. Then he feels the burning heat beating against his skin, feels the slick of sweat where his cheek is pressed against Dean's neck. He pauses, jumps and nearly drops Dean as he pulls back to peer into his face.

 _He's not gone._ The younger Winchester thinks blankly, blinking down into Dean's unhealthily white face with cheeks as red as apples. Sam is too stunned to notice anything but his brother's quick, fluttering, imperceptible breaths. In a millisecond he has a hand spread over Dean's upper chest, a few fingers touching his neck, feeling the pulse there.

Soul melting with relief.

He swallows at the sight of Dean's bloody t-shirt, _I did that_ , he can't help but think. But Dean is shaking in his arms with the strength of his shivers, his skin is hot and his clothes are sticking to him with sweat and Sam can't think of anything else right now but Dean stuck in his own overheating brain.

He has no idea how long his brother has been out, how high his temperature actually is, and how much at risk he is. With shaking fingers he pulls Dean's shirt up and looks confused down at Dean's wound. It's a little inflamed, but nothing unusual, in fact it looks good...Sam swallows apprehensively, doesn't relinquish his hold on his brother...is still half undecided which world is real.

The one where Dean is alive in his arms...or the one where Dean is cold and dead in his arms.

Sam's trusting of his own sanity like that. Now was no time for sarcasm though. He needs Dean to wake up right the hell now, needs to see his eyes, see the recognition in them...see the very 'greenness' of them. He reaches an arm across Dean's body and shakes his arm.

"Dean?" He clears his throat as his voice cracks, hoarse, and Sam thinks he vaguely remembers screaming into the material of Dean's jacket. The wet spot on the material collaborates it. "Dean, I need you to wake up..."

He shakes Dean again, a little harder, a little bit of the impetuous, little brother insistence there. "Dean please." He says through another crack in his voice, feeling himself on the verge of tears again.

Dean turns towards his voice, mouth falls open a little and his teeth set as his body begins to tremble more pronouncedly. Shaking in pointed intervals, growing stronger as Sam tries to hold his brother closer to his own body, trying to keep him still.

"No, no, no," he mumbles desperately as Dean spasms rigidly in his arms, though his head is limp against Sam's shoulder. Knows he's no match for seizures, knows here on the floor, on the stairs he can't protect Dean at all.

The scary heat emanating from his brother is flustering Sam even more, his mind which is frazzled, blurry and unsure at best right now telling him vaguely he needs to cool his brother down...the other terrified, half insane part of him says dontletgoyoumightneverseehimagainbettertobewithhimintheend...that breaks Sam.

 _No!_

He yells at himself, Dean wasn't dying, even when half Sam's faculties were telling him Dean was gone, when half his senses were telling him his dream had come true, Sam knows he still has to fight for that chance that Dean is still there and that he's not dreaming this...Dean is his alone to protect and love, his alone to depend entirely on and he'll be damned if he doesn't fight for that.

And yes, he's scared that Dean might wake up with black eyes, might come back to him and his dream be true after all but... _let him die with Dean, or by Dean_.

He is loathe to let Dean out of his arms, he manages to drag them both the rest of the way up the stairs back into the library. His brother jerks in Sam's hold, teeth knocking, eyes closed, shifting under the lids, rolled back into his head.

Sam gasps, out of breath, hands hovering helplessly over his brother's form. "I don't know what's wrong with you," he chokes out, "What am I supposed to do?" He asks out loud for guidance. Feels the panic eating away at his understanding of the situation, his breaths rasping in his throat and Dean...Dean seizing in his very arms.

He lays his brother gently on the floor and runs to their mini fridge there in the library, thanks heaven he still has a bottle of water there. Without missing a beat, blinking an eye, or thinking twice, he falls back to his knees beside Dean, twists the lid off and pours the cold water over Dean's chest, neck and face.

Waits, panting hard.

Dean's face twists in a grimace, and he gives a full bodied shudder before slowly, with a few last violent shakes, goes dead still, limp on the hard wood floor. Which was much much worse. Sam scrambles to pull him closer again, not minding that he was getting soaked too.

"Dean, you gotta wake up, please. Please just wake up..." there's no reaction from his brother, not a change in facial expression, not one muscle moves. Sam shivers with the cool water his clothes are sopping up from the floor and his brother, he pulls Dean's dripping figure tighter against him.

Dean's lips have lost color and thats the first movement, they start to shake with cold, slowly going from pink, to pale, to slightly blue with cold. Dean's head falls to the side as Sam scoots to lean his back against the wall and Sam swallows around the panic rising in his throat.

 _This isn't a part of the dream,_ he keeps telling himself, _this isn't a part of the dream_. Somehow that means Dean will wake up, even though he knows anything can happen, anything will happen.

Sam remembers his angry words in the kitchen, the look of pain and fear in Dean's eyes when Sam's hand came away bloody...he wasn't even sure Dean wanted to come back to him, in fact wherever Dean had been going before collapsing had been decidedly away from Sam.

"I still need you," he gasps out around the fear and sorrow, "I still need you, please come back to me...I'm sorry, I'm sorry I didn't mean for any of this to happen."

But that didn't help anything. Sam had been so wrapped up in his own head and his own pain he'd completely missed Dean's, that he was hurt and sick...when his brother needed him he'd missed it, and of course he didn't mean for it to happen but that didn't change anything...didn't change the fact that Sam had been so wrapped up in making sure his brother stayed his brother that now he was losing the chance to have him at all.

"Please don't leave me." He whispers into Dean's ear where his brother's head rests on his shoulder, "Can't do this without you."

Dean is his best friend, his brother, his partner, his parent, his mentor...Dean has always been there and Dean has always been exactly what Sam needed. Has always evolved with Sam and Sam thinks back to the last couple of days and realizes how his own uneasiness and fear must have impacted Dean.

Dean knew what he was scared of, knew how the dream bothered him. And Sam, Sam should have seen how that would mark Dean inside in ways Sam's couldn't even imagine. The shame the guilt...the blood Dean felt was on his hands. Then on top of all that there was whatever that witch had done to his brother... whatever was causing this fever, causing Sam's heart to tremble in fear of losing Dean.

 _She's_ _killing him_. Sam suddenly realizes, somehow she was killing him, even now that she was dead. And even as his mind races for an explanation, to figure out what spell, or curse she used and the cure...he knows he'll be too late if Dean doesn't wake up and fight now.

He reaches down gently and thumbs the drying blood from under Dean's nose, removes the unnerving scarlet evidence. His heart breaks when he gets no response for the tender action, when Dean doesn't even wince at being touched in the face, and gently and lovingly at that. He swallows around his uncertainty and fear...that could come later, right now Dean had to live...he had to fight.

"Please just wake up." Sam pleads, chokes out with a desperate breath, "Just open your eyes."

And then Dean does.

Eyes black as can be.

...

 _It starts like the same dream from before._

 _Dean is in a grassy field and in front of him Sam stands strong and silent. There's a giant devil's trap burned into the grass, burned into the very earth and Sam stands in the middle trapped...the telltale sign that his brother is no longer himself. When the brother's eyes meet Sam's flash a warm yellow and Dean feels sick._

 _"Sam." He chokes out in disbelief, sorrow and a keen feeling of betrayal. Sam's face falls, is the epitome of kicked puppy, little brother as he uses the back of his hand to innocently wipe away the last few drops of dark demon blood dripping down his chin._

 _Dean's heart cracks and groans under the enormous weight of this heartache...he takes a step back with a hand in front of him disbelievingly...this can't be, Sammy wouldn't. He would never go back, he would never betray Dean like that again. They were better than that, they were closer than that, they were stronger than that._

 _"Are we really, Dean?" Sam asks from his where he stands trapped. "Are you?" Really better than that?_

 _"Am I what..." he starts to ask. His words choke off inside his throat as he feels it inside him. Welling up and tainting him. Roots growing up and over him holding him down, shadowing him and bleeding darkness into his very soul._

 _"No, I'm not, I'm not a demon..." Dean objects brokenly._

 _Breaks off in a sob as he looks down to find his hands covered in slick blood, flesh under his fingernails, bodies piled around him, men, women...children._

 _"This is not who I am," he whispers to himself even as the feeling inside him draws dark wool over his eyes, another personality...someone's else feelings, even though deep down he knows they're his own just not human him._

 _Sam's eyes go hollow and sad as he watches Dean. Watches as Dean goes from panicked to cold and calculated. "This is how you were always going to end up." He says in a soft, resigned voice, and his eyes flare yellow again. "This is how I was always going to end up..." he gestures to himself with a graceful motion._

 _"Give it up Dean, give it up."_

 _Dean struggles, feels something gentle and good deep down, tries to dig for it, to find it...to find himself again. The darker side of him sparking with anger at Sam's condescending tone and words. He stops and watches Sam carefully and Sam grins at him._

 _"You're eyes are black, Dean." He says with sick satisfaction, and contentedly gives that perfect-toothed smile as flames jump up around him. "You are a demon."_

 _"No..." Dean says softly, most of him accepting it, but a small corner of his soul remembering his Sammy and their fighting the good fight together._

 _"Yes," Sam presses softly, "Yes, you are."_

 _And Dean watches as Sam runs his hand through flames and the flesh melts from his bones, watches as the fire slowly crawl up his arm. Flames fly up and eat away at the right side of his face, burn it away until there is nothing left but charred bone, flaming like embers, and Sam's face stretches in a grin._

 _Then that last little piece in Dean dies. This wasn't his brother anymore...this wasn't Sam. Dean's soul chills over completely, he changes his eyes from black back to his normal green, watches as his brother's body is destroyed. Hears him..._

 _"You won't save me, Dean...you won't save me, will you?"_

 _And Dean won't. He watches calm and cold as the rest of Sam burns away and the last of his brother flies away in ash into the cold night air with one last agonizing scream. He knows he's all wrong, knows he's all gone inside, nothing left but dark emptiness, knows he shouldn't want to live like this, knows he shouldn't want to live without Sam. But all he can feel is self-gratification in the fact that it wasn't him who burned up._

 _He turns around and there is Sam again, he must be about nine, and he gazes at Dean with big, familiar hazel eyes. He holds out a small hand and Dean takes it and lets himself be pulled down to his knees to stare eye to eye with the sweet boy from the past. There's intelligent fear in his eyes but he doesn't flinch as he reaches out to touch Dean's face, his small thumb resting in the crow's feet besides Dean's eyes._

 _"Your eyes are black." The boy whispers, and Dean shuts them with a twinge of near regret and shame...maybe there's something human left deep inside him...left deep inside him for Sam._

 _He opens his mouth the apologize to say, I know I let you down, I'm sorry I'm not there...I'm sorry I left you. I'm sorry I can't be who you wanted me to be...to relieve himself of some guilt._

 _"Open your eyes, Dean." Sam's voice says softly, but his voice is deeper and softer and Dean finds an older Sam kneeling across from him in the wet, dewy grass. The Sam that had stood beside him when they lost their dad and when they killed the yellow eyed demon, all innocent eyes and soft tuffs of hair._

 _And Dean watches with wide eyes as Sam studies him, stilling holding his hand._

 _"You're a demon." Sam says, and Dean flinches, but it wasn't an accusation. He watches in sick fascination as Sam's eyes fall to his wrist, flick back to Dean's face momentarily before picking up the demon knife that had appeared on the grass beside them and slicing long ways down the tender flesh of Dean's forearm._

 _Dean gags and jerks his head away, squeezes his eyes shut against the sight of Sam lowering his head and latching his mouth onto the wide open, gushing wound. Sam sucks contentedly for a few seconds, eyes lazily blinking up at his brother, before Dean feels his mouth leave his arm and his hand grabs Dean under his chin and pulls his face back towards him and Dean tries to shake his head and shake Sam's hand off, tries to pull away...doesn't want to see Sam's face stained and dripping with his demon blood, doesn't want to see the taint he is on his baby brother... but Sam is insistent and strong and Dean feels his little brother's breath on his ear as he whispers..._

 _"Open your eyes, Dean."_

 _And of course Dean does._

...tbc

Wow, my poor boys, I'm starting to feel a little sadistic, lol. Not to quote Crowley or anything (to quote Crowley totally) but we all know we love the man pain right!? REVIEW!? ;))


	12. Chapter 12

(((For any fellow music fanatics the song 'Be Still' by The Killers goes with this chapter.)))

Chapter 12.

 _It's one of those moments the whole world stands still for. Everything stops, everything freezes. Birds stop singing, the wind dies. Waves pause on the sand, children hesitate in their play. Demons tremble, angels stop what ever they're doing and cock their heads to the side to listen. Where ever Chuck is he holds his breath._

 _They don't know why. They shake off an ominous feeling. The earth and nature sighs, Chuck grimaces...the devil cackles. Everything, everyone can feel it. Can feel it through the largeness of what the Winchesters are, the largeness of what they feel...the enormity of what they are to each other._

 _It's a moment everything recognizes as a turning point. Knows that nothing will ever be the same again. Knows everything that is known will change...the peace is disturbed, a ripple effect for ages and ages. Everything holds its breath in respect._

 _The moment is meaningless and scary to some, to others it's poignant with import, rankles in some's souls uneasily. Its something most people will never feel and yet what most people will have a teasing taste of. It's the very purest of all emotions, the most untainted love causing the most untainted sorrow._

 _It goes hand and hand doesn't it?_

 _That is what the world feels the moment Dean Winchester opens his eyes._

...

Dean comes out of the fever dream slowly. Blinks away the shadows and of course seeks Sam out very first. And he finds him all too soon. His brother looks down on him with wide eyes, his face frozen with shock and fear. And Dean knows...knows deep in his gut. His eyes are black as can be.

He can see it all over Sam's face. And it's not terror or hate, and that makes it hurt all the worse. It's pure devastation...it's every helpless, hopeless feeling Dean's ever felt in his life in one, lone facial expression. And he's put it on his baby brother's face.

He can hardly hear or think past the swirling storm of pain his head, the tornado of Sam's thoughts and emotions swamping him especially now that they're touching. The wound on his chest is burning, feels like his skin is bubbling and boiling away.

Whatever was inside him, whatever new version of his demon this was Dean knew they couldn't fight it, he was about to lose to it could tell by the way darkness ate away at his vision. Had already lost to it, the color of his eyes attested to that. And now Sam was in danger, the world was in danger...every good thing they had every done was in danger.

He couldn't be a stain on their legacy. He wouldn't.

And he sees the loneliness, the misery, the sorrow and the determination on Sam's face and he knows deep down, knows in his mind and his heart, knows in his soul where he can feel Sam so clear and pure...knows they aren't coming back from this.

Knows this must be how they go down...they go down together.

...

Sam's heart leaps with hope and joy as Dean stirs, turns his head towards his little brother and smacks his lips softly. Then his lashes flutter and he blinks a few times before opening his eyes fully and seeking Sam out first thing. Sam would have been flattered if his whole world hadn't just come to a screeching halt.

He sits frozen, arms still holding Dean close to him. Both his brother's eyes entirely black and void of thought or emotion. Dean doesn't try to move, or say anything, he still acts hurt and fever-weak. And Sam just stares, heart beating so loud in his ears that he can't hear anything else. He can't breathe, god, can't think beyond this.

And Dean just lays there...black eyes blinking up at Sam...the younger Winchester feels tears drip down his frozen face, coughs out with a sob, "Dean? They're back...your eyes are black." Almost a plea, _please tell me I'm seeing things, please tell me they're not, tell me YOU'RE not..._

Dean coughs weakly, his face morphing with the pain, an arm coming to wrap around his middle trying to protect the wound there. And Sam can't let Dean go, in fact, his arms tighten around him, but Sam presses himself into the wall unconsciously trying to get away from him, from the blackness of his eyes and the darkness it speaks of inside.

And no matter how much Sam's mind and body screams at him to be afraid and to run, Sam can't. Can't leave his brother, doesn't care if he is a demon...won't leave his brother.

"Sammy," Dean rasps out. And that's enough, enough to let Sam know Dean is still part ways himself. His brother sounds so relieved to be there with him, but there's something terrible there too. Dean is resigned Sam realizes and his heart clenches with fear. Watches in awe at a sight he's never seen before.

A tear wells up and and spills from one black eye, another soon chasing it down Dean's cheek. Sam's breath stops in his throat at the terribly beautiful scene, and his heart shatters. "Dean...what happened, what's happening to you?"

Dean swallows slowly, grimaces with the pain. "Sammy, I can't go down that road again, I can't be that _thing_ again..."

He trails off, eye lids sliding over the blackness. And Sam watches the shallow breaths rise and fall in his brother's chest before he realizes what Dean is saying...what Dean is asking of him.

"No!" He chokes, "No, I..."

And then he's in his dream. And he staring at Dean's empty bed and he's feeling the crushing burden of that loneliness, that keen sense of failure...and Dean is just gone...Dean is gone without a word, without warning...without goodbye.

"You aren't leaving me..." He says, sounding more like he's trying to convince himself than anything. "You can't leave me!" He says again, stronger, voice filling with soul deep anguish, the loneliness already there, the very prospect of it eating away at his composure and sanity.

"You have to let me go," Dean says, turning his head away, trying to hide from Sam...trying to hide from that endless reflection of himself...the horror, the shame and the hate...he thinks he'll find there.

"No..." Sam says through another sob, angrily wipes at his eyes, "No please, you can't, you can't just leave me...you promised, we promised...together."

Sam sees the pain wash over Dean's face, catches his brother's chin and pulls it back towards him, "Don't hide from me, I know it's not you, I know the black eyes aren't you."

Dean shakes his hand off and opens his eyes, the expressionless black catching on the lights and making them flash. And Sam jerks back as if slapped. He watches as a fresh wave of hurt and suffering crosses his brother's countenance.

"Sam." Dean starts softly, and Sam chokes on his attempt to tell his brother to shut up. "We both know this isn't who we are, this isn't us...this is a stain on everything we've done. I can't be this, you can't let me be this, it's over for me..."

"You can't say that," Sam cries out, "You don't get to say that!" An horrifying repeat of the last conversation he had with his brother while Dean was sporting black eyes.

"Yes, I can!" Dean nearly shouts back, but can't because his voice is too hoarse. "I don't want to hurt you Sam, I don't want to hurt anyone." He voice falls and at the end he's pleading, _don't let me hurt anyone Sam, don't let me hurt you._

Sam shakes his head adamantly, biting his lip. "No. This isn't the way it goes, this isn't the way it goes..." and he finally feels the unraveling begin inside his head. Thread by thread, it all comes apart so quickly. He never thought going insane would feel this sane, this easy. "If you go...then so do I."

"Sam!" Dean objects brokenly, another tear slipping down from his obsidian eyes, catching on his lips and letting him taste the salt.

"No!" Sam yells, through the croak in his throat. "If you go, then I go. We knew this would be the way it happened, and it's here now...it's time and I'm ready Dean...I'm not ready to live without you so yes, I'm ready to die with you. You always thought it was the demon I was scared of De, but it wasn't, it wasn't, it was just losing you...I can't, I can't lose you.

Sam watches some kind of weight be lifted from Dean. Knows it's been a burden for Dean to carry, thinking about Sam constantly dreaming about his demon and it taking days upon days for Sam to shake off the terror. To know that the son of hell wasn't what scared Sam, but simply losing his big brother is like a healing balm over Dean's shame and guilt. The older Winchester shuts his eyes again and it allows both of the brothers to pretend like they aren't nightmare black at just this moment.

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean whispers, "I always kinda hoped it'd be you."

And Sam chokes on his next breath and the boulder that won't leave his chest as he shakes his head against this, _there has to be another way, there has to be another way._

"Sam," Dean slides his hand up to cup Sam's cheek, thumbs the tears away from under his right eye. And the expression on his face is so tender and loving it shatters Sam's heart time and time over even with those black eyes staring up at him. "C'mon."

"This isn't fair!" Sam cries, and he feels Dean chuckle weakly as he hugs Dean tighter, hides his face in his wet coat.

"C'mon kiddo, we both know we gave up on fair a long time ago." Sam doesn't bother to respond, his heart feels like someone is grinding it into the ground with their heel as Dean's arms snake around him and hug him back equally tight.

 _C'mon kiddo_. It echoes in Sam's mind, _c'mon_. And he can do that, he can follow Dean.

He releases Dean and jumps up, grabs an angel blade from the weapon's bag lying on the table and turns back towards his brother. Dean pants as he pulls himself upward, his black eyes blinking, the lights making wet tracks on his cheeks. He's bent double on his knees breathing through dizziness and the burning in his mind.

Sam falls to his knees in front of Dean one last time. His big brother sits up straight and looks Sam in the eye, and there's not any expression in those bottomless black mirrors but Sam knows, knows the fond, heart broken, regretful look that would be there.

Sam places his hand on the side of his brother's neck, fingers around the back of his head drawing him closer, forcing their eyes to meet again. Dean's posture softens as his gaze falls on the shining blade Sam's holding low at his waist, the tip between them, pointing at his stomach. Dean takes one last breath...a deep breath of complete, contented peace.

"It's alright," Sam says anyways, voice low and comforting, their eyes connecting their souls together this one last time, in this very last moment. And Sam could care less that those eyes are black and void...he feels Dean through their connection like never before.

"It's alright, I'm coming right after you..."

With all his might Sam plunges the knife in all the way to the hilt...deep into Dean.

...tbc

...what just happened? I made myself cry is what just happened. Omgoodness, how r u guys doing, lol? REVIEW!?;);)

((("C'mon kiddo" and "I'm coming right after you" will be the meaning to the rest of my existence, seriously, I'm all emo over it:)))


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13.

When Sam wakes up the first thing he feels is the massive headache pounding away in his temples. The second is how cold he is, the shivers subtly shaking him. The third is the crick in his neck and lower back from where he'd fallen asleep against the wall outside Dean's bedroom.

He'd fallen asleep at Dean's door, that was the whole reason this had happened, Dean and slipped past him, Dean had left without him...they needed to go together...they had to go together...

He'd found his brother cold and gone on the floor...no that was the dream, what he really found? And then he sees black eyes, tears, feels the screaming pain inside him...the loneliness and the overpowering scene of wrong!

He wasn't supposed to be here right now, he was supposed to be with Dean.

"Sam?" A voice is speaking into his ear, hands on his shoulders and no...this wasn't right...he was going to Dean, he had to go to Dean. He mind is slow coming back online. But finally clear blue eyes ground him, blond hair surrounding familiar features shake him from where he was frozen in hopelessness.

"Mom?" He asks, hearing his own words slur. And she shouldn't be here...what was going on?

"Sam, what happened?" He hears her ask but he's got her by the shoulders and drags her down to look him in the eye.

"Where's Dean?" Is all he can grunt out while struggling to rise, swaying once on his feet but using the walls and furniture to support him through the opened door and into Dean's room. "Where is he, mom, what happened, we were just...I just..." and he can't say it god, what had he done?

"Sam be careful," Mary urges behind him, "You don't look so good yourself."

But Sam barely hears her, is too busy blinking through tears of thankfulness at the sight of his big brother lying on his bedroom floor shirtless and wet, his head turned away but Sam can hear the gently wheezing breaths as was Dean's wont when under the weather, can see the slight flush of fever in his cheeks...he's alive.

That's the only thing Sam can think, that's the only thing getting through to him right now. He's alive!

Mary stands over his shoulder as he goes to his knees beside Dean, his hand ghosting over his brother's side...unmarked, white skin...no gaping knife wound.

"You're alive..." he wonders in awe out loud, and how his bruised and abused heart soars! Mary gives pause.

"It never happened." He whispers to himself as his fingers seek out the sweet spot on Dean's neck that broadcasts his pulse. "It never happened." He says again, can't quite believe it, can't believe...they're here together at home and they're safe after all of that.

"When I got here you were both unresponsive," Mary says in a low voice, watching her boys carefully, "Dean was burning up with fever, and I guessed from your call something must have happened with the witch. So I poured holy water over the wound and you woke up right after."

Sam is grazing fingertips over the wound on his brother's chest; it had twisted and shaped itself into some sort of rune, the skin around it red and angry. Sam shudders at the thought of what must have been happening to them. Locked inside each other's minds torturing themselves with their worst fears. Projecting their nightmares on each other. Unwilling mirrors with even more horrifying reflections.

What their own minds were capable of was terrifying, and it makes him ache a little more inside that it was their fears for each other that made them suffer the most. He'd have to talk to Dean more, but the witch must have been using the curse to reflect Sam's emotions, fears and thoughts into Dean's mind...he remembers the pain Dean had endured after Sam touched the wound that very first just after he had come home from the hunt. Wonders if maybe he himself had activated the curse then.

"It looks like some Celtic symbol," Mary says, kneeling beside Sam, as the little brother presses his hand against his brother's forehead feeling the heat there, sighing with relief at the subtlety of it, not dangerously at all like it had been.

Sam clears his throat, "Yeah, I think so too, it must have been some kind of curse..."

"What?" Mary asks sharply, "Sam, tell me what happened..."

"Mom," he interrupts her, voice surprisingly soft and steady. "Help me get him on the bed, yeah?" Can't talk about it, won't. It was too much, too soon, too close...too horrible and sacred to every speak about in the light of day.

Now he realizes it was all in their heads, realizes they had shared something so horrific but had survived, knows there would be fallout from all this. They would need time and more importantly each other to heal from this...on top of that the curse had been using Dean's body to power it, his brother is entirely drained, still out cold, shivering with the cool of the holy water Mary and used to flush the evil right out of the wound.

Mary pauses, takes a deep breath of resignation and then nods, knows Sam has taken over control of the situation. Where his brother is concerned Sam will oversee everything, even if he's not doing so well either. She can see it written all over her youngest, guilt, fear, but so much sweet relief...she's afraid to know exactly what 'curse' Sam is talking about.

Dean is a dead weight in their arms, but they manage to drag him up onto the mattress with a little less finesse than Sam would have liked. He grabs Dean's towel from where it's hanging on the bathroom door handle and uses it to soak up most of the wetness on Dean's skin, pulls the sheet and blanket up over his brother to stave off the chill.

Sam finally allows himself to take a deep breath, looking down at something so mundane he thought he'd never see again. Dean sleeping peacefully.

He reaches out a hand and brushes the hair away from Dean's forehead smiling, Dean hated that. "It's okay," he whispers, voice shaking with the fear of the possibility Dean won't wake up, that Dean's still locked in that hell somewhere, "It's okay, it was all in our heads, you can come back to me now." _Please come back to me now..._

He bites the inside of his mouth, watching Dean's relaxed face, in his sleep he looks so young, so vulnerable...trusting Sam to take care of everything...and Sam can only imagine the fear and confusion his brother must have been feeling ever since he got home from the hunt with their mom, not knowing what was wrong with him, what was going on...really thinking he was a demon again.

"I know you're tired," he says softly, "I am too, but just lemme see those green eyes, c'mon Dean, gotta know you're okay." Is so terrified that Dean is lost to him in the middle of all the thoughts and feelings, the fear and the doubt...remembers Dean ready to die...happy to, finally at peace, and Sam knows he's going to be having plenty of new nightmares.

He can't swallow past the overjoyed lump in his throat when Dean stirs and turns towards Sam's voice, watches a grimace flash over his face as he feels the left over pain in his body, but his brother fights on towards consciousness and Sam's guiding voice. "Hey," he greets gently, "Hey, you with me?"

And then the most beautiful thing Sam's ever had the privilege to see and probably the most beautiful thing he ever will see; bright emerald, green eyes looking up him sleepily. The redness of the whites of his eyes only making them stand out all the more and Sam barely coughs back his sob of relief.

"Sammm...?" his brother whispers out on an exhale of air, "'u 'kay? What happen'..."

"Yes..." Sam says through a teary laugh, "Yes I'm fine, we're both fine Dean. It was all in our heads, it was just all a bad dream."

"...nightmare." Dean says softly with an upwards twitch of his lips, before his eyes slowly close again. "'m tired," is all he apparently has the strength to share.

"Yes, definitely a nightmare." Sam laughs softly again, watches with awed gratefulness as his brother rolls onto his side towards Sam, eyes still shut, breath already evening out again. "Gonna wake you up in a bit to eat something, okay?" Sam says gently, loathe to let Dean slip back into a dreamscape again so soon, a dreamscape where Sam's not there.

Dean simply 'hmms' in unconscious agreement to Sam's plan and presses his face further into his pillow for warmth, sighs happily when Sam pulls the covers up to his neck.

Sam smiles softly, "I'll be here when you wake up, not going anywhere," he promises. Looks back to their mom where she stands watching the scene with a sort of shell shocked expression on her face. Sam tries not to think about what would have happened to them if she hadn't come. Decides he's just going to bathe in the sunlight of being alive, of being alive with Dean.

...

Just as Sam drives the angel blade into his middle Dean is incased in a freezing burn. He's plunged into darkness. He's experienced death before and each time has been different. The velvety darkness he falls into this time is by far the most pleasant version of death as of yet.

Rest. Peace.

This is what child Dean expected out of death. This was what adult, hunter Dean knew was impossible. But he welcomed it. God, he was so tired, bone tired...soul weary. His body was drained of energy, felt as though his life source had been sucked out.

The comforting, soft darkness closes everything out, his body finally taking over and shutting everything out in self defense. Demands rest, demands time for healing. It's Sam that pulls him out, and he knows that's the one thing that has been aggravating him at the back of his mind, Sammy.

What would become of him if Dean died? He knew Sam would really follow him, would really kill himself. Can see his sweet baby brother sitting slumped against the wall, Dean's corpse fallen lump over into his lap, and Sam's wrists slit longways blood gushing and gushing. Drowning them in precious crimson as a final, goodbye luxury. Making sure they made it to their final destination together.

It's Sam's hopeful, scared voice that pulls him out of the lovely darkness. But there's not the expected pain and misery when he gains consciousness. He's warm and safe, and Sam is there sitting over him, has everything under control, is keeping watch...he knows their safe, he trusts Sam to take care of it all.

Finally, finally...Sam knows, about the black eyes and whatever that witch had done to him, and Sam can take care of it now and Dean can rest. Sleep is on the fore front of his mind after one thought.

 _You alright, Sammy?_

 _Just a nightmare,_ Sam says and lets Dean fall back under the comforting darkness, lets him drown in that warm velvety sleep again and promises he'll be there...

And a part of Dean is still unsure and afraid, wants to get up and peer into the mirror. Study his eyes and their color...to know first hand they're back to their familiar green. To know that what's inside him is all him is pure, simple...good Dean.

But Sam is smiling down at at him, thankful, relieved tears in his eyes and Dean is too tired to comment on them, just rests in the knowledge that only one thing could make Sam that happy and that was himself and his very own green irises.

Dean finally feels himself let go...because Sam is there. And Dean knows he won't leave because he said he wouldn't and Sam kept his word, Sam loved him, Sam fought for him and believed in him...Sam hadn't left him when his eyes were black...Sam hadn't left him when the answer was death.

"I'll be here when you wake up." He says, _not going anywhere. Don't know how we move past this, don't know if we ever will, but I will be here. I can be your mirror and your sounding board, as long as I'm here you won't ever have to be afraid of being that thing again...I'm here as long as you're here..._

 _Me too, Sammy, me too._

...tbc

This story makes me so happy...one last chapter, just for some emotionally healing lol. REVIEW!?;);)


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14.

It's been three hours. Dean is still sleeping like the dead, breathing noisily in his lungs but Sam doesn't mind... _he's breathing_. And Sam hasn't left Dean's side, but it's getting late and he'd promised himself Dean would eat. Mary had left for a grocery run not too long ago and Sam rises gently when he hears the bunker door clang open and then shut again.

"Be right back." He says softly, smoothing the blanket over Dean's shoulder before padding quietly out of the room and shutting the door behind him. Mary's putting milk in the fridge when he walks into the kitchen and she turns and gives him a warm smile, he spots a white take out bag as his stomach growls.

"What's this?" He asks, peering in, loving the smell that meets him.

"Chick Fil A chicken soup," she says, grabbing two big mugs from the cabinets. "Both you boys aren't looking so good, so I bought soup." She looks proud of herself.

Sam laughs. "Ah, mother stuff."

She laughs too, "Exactly. What will Dean want to drink?"

"Well, he'll want coffee...but we both know he ain't getting it."

"Yes, we do." She assures and grabs a can of sprite, "This'll have to do, it'll be easy on his stomach too."

Sam nods in a agreement and pours the soup evenly into the two mugs. "You gonna be good?" he asks, as she sets everything out on a tray for Sam to carry.

"Yeah of course, you go make sure you guys are okay."

Sam simply smiles and nods, glad that she seems to understand what they need right now, what Dean needs right now. And as much as Dean wants and loves motherly affection she knows what Dean needs right now is the tried and true healing connection he and Sam share.

"Feel welcome to stay." He says on his way out the door.

She nods pouring herself some coffee, "I'll let you know before I head out."

"'kay." He affirms with a last smile as he leaves the room. He balances the tray carefully as he opens the door and softly shuts it behind him. It's comfortably warm and the lighting soft and Sam breathes easier once he and Dean are shut in the safe place alone together.

He puts the tray on the empty side of the bed and then steps around to Dean. Takes a few seconds to appreciate the peaceful slumbers he's about to interrupt. Loves the way Dean looks relaxed, trusting and at rest, and when Sam stands over him, watching over him, he feels like he's had something to do with it, like he's done something good.

He places a light hand on his brother's shoulder and shakes him gently. "Dean? Dean, time to wake up." When his brother stirs, and breathes in wetly through his drool Sam smiles indulgently. "Got some supper here for you."

Dean moans under his breath and allows himself to stretch out. His eyes flutter open and Sam's heart can't help but jump a little at that glimpse of reassuring sparkling emerald. His eyes go down to Dean's chest to examine the wound as the covers fall with Dean's movements.

"Checkin' me out?" Dean snarks with a sleepy smile and Sam rolls his eyes as he drops down to his seat on the other side of the bed.

"Keep dreaming," he shoots back, pulling the tray into his lap and watches as Dean stiffly pulls himself up to sit against the head board.

"Ugh," Dean lets out once he's sitting up.

"You okay?" Sam asks in a hurry and Dean waves him off.

"Just a little dizzy, Sammy, the sky ain't fallin'." Sam huffs under his breath and picks up one of the mugs to pass to Dean.

Dean lifts slightly trembling hands to grab it. "Careful. You sure you got it?" Sam warns.

"I'm okay Sam," Dean soothes, "I'm all rested up now, but I'm about to starve..."

Sam feels everything tense up inside him again, feels the fear and uncertainty and guilt again, the doubt that he hasn't done everything could have that he doesn't it right. "I'm sorry, I should have woken you up earlier, but I wanted you to sleep and get better and..."

"Sam." Dean says simply, and it works like a charm to shut the little brother up. "It's okay. You did good." And Dean gets why Sam's got that watery look in his eyes, and why those words mean so much.

The silence sits between them and Sam basks in the light of those words, _you did good_. Makes it all worth it, makes him swear he'd do it all over again if he had to, makes him smile and tingle with warmth...makes him think his life isn't so bad. Makes him look to all evil things and the future and think, _bring it on._

Dean lifts the mug to lips and loudly slurps some of the hot liquid, sighs in relief after his first sample, "God, that's so good."

Sam laughs, "Never thought I'd see you all worked up over a cup of soup."

Dean holds out his hand with an indignant look on his face, grumbling, "I'm shaking okay? I think I'm entitled to enjoy whatever you ration me."

"Yeah whatever, pretty boy, want some green tea there with your soup?"

"Shut up Sam and go screw yourself, all the green tea in this place is yours and yours alone."

Sam just allows himself a peal of laughter and contentedly sips away at his soup too. Dean disdainfully accepts the sprite but Sam can tell he revels in the cool feeling sliding down his throat. He sighs in contentment after he's finished, hands the mug back to Sam.

Sam's relieved to find his brother's shaking gone, though the whites of his eyes are still red and blood shot. Dean allows himself to sink back into it the mattress and sighs, closing his eyes. Sam can tell he was already tired again, that fever had really done a number on him.

"You good?" Sam asks again, can't ask too many times...can quite kill the remaining unease in his heart.

"Yeah," Dean sighs, understands, sympathizes, wouldn't have Sam stop for all the world...loves knowing he means that much to someone, to Sam. "Just tired, feel like I could sleep forever." Dean shuts his eyes after pulling the sheets half way up his bare chest.

"Dean..." Sam starts, but can't go on. Doesn't even know what he wants to say just wants their pain acknowledged even if it's only by themselves, just wants Dean to acknowledge his own pain...to know he didn't deserve this, to know he was a victim and it wasn't his fault at all.

"Sam," Dean says under his breath, "Do we really have to do the whole talk therapy thing? We were there together, we got through it together."

"Just," Sam starts, _just talk to me, just let me know you're here, just take advantage of the fact that you can actually talk!_ "Just tell me what happened with the witch." He says instead.

Dean sighs, the wrinkle of his frown appearing between his closed eyes and Sam feels his apprehension growing again, "I'm pretty sure she cursed me when she died, cuz I felt her Sam, felt what she felt, heard her dying thoughts..." he breaks off, wipes over his mouth nervously with his hand.

"Jesus..." Sam says, thinking what it would be like to not only stab someone to death and watch the light die from their eyes, but to also feel their regrets, their anger, their guilt, their...fear. He shivers realizing what had been happening to them on a whole new level. Killing each other with their dying fears. Their fear of being alone.

"So she cursed you..."

"...to feel all your fears? Yeah, that's as near as I can guess. You could probably find that symbol easily enough, you geek."

Sam smiles at that, the insult not hiding the compliment within it at all, he rises with the tray to carry it back to the kitchen.

"Sam." Dean's voice halts him. "Thank you."

"No problem," the young Winchester responds easily.

"No." Dean says firmly, his voice taking on a husky component and Sam turns to find his face unreadable but soft and his eyes shining wetly. "Thank you, thank you for what you were going to do."

Sam bites the side of his mouth, _what I did do, god, I killed you_ , his throat working to control the emotion still so close to the surface. "Don't thank me for that..." he nearly whispers, "Please don't thank me for that."

Dean gives him the most loving smile, cocks his head to one side watching him carefully. "Okay," he says in a hushed voice, "Not for that then. But thank you for everything else Sammy, thank you for everything you do."

"You don't have thank me Dean, never you. In fact, please don't thank me, then it just reminds me how selfish it all really is." Sam gives a nervous laugh after that, watches as Dean's face lights up with what Sam is implying.

"Couldn't have said it better myself, Sammy."

And that's that. So maybe it's the rest of the world that thanks them. Maybe it's the rest of the world that thanks them for allowing them to witness something so extraordinary. Maybe it's humanity that thanks them for proving there's still some hope, some good left in it. Maybe it's families all over the world that thanks them because with out them no one would truly know what family was.

Even so the Winchesters don't even see it, they don't understand it, they aren't even trying, they don't want to be better or special. They simply labor away at being there entirely for each other...the only completely selfless act of self-preservation.

And that's why however or whenever it's their time to go it will be together.

 _You first Dean..._

 _...no please, Sammy, after you._

THE END.

CANT BELIEVE ITS OVER!

This is the VERY VERY :(LAST:( CHAPTER SO PLEASE !REVIEW! FOR ME!?;);)

Thank you HBKDEANRKO for this prompt, it challenged me in the best of ways and I hope, encouraged me to write to new heights! (((For anyone who wants to read the original prompt I will leave it at the bottom of this;)))

To the rest of my dearest and adored readers,

You guys blow me away! Thank you so much for going with me on this adventure. Each and every one of you means the world to me. It means so much to me that there are people out there who want to read my writing:):) I can never express how thankful I am for this little thing I have going on here...so just thank you again and again.

 **...and for all of you who reviewed, you know who you are, thank you thank you thank you! You are the reason I have enough steam to to write on!:))**

 **To AquaKitty3; thank you so much for your kind words and encouragement. I love to write and I would love to make it a part of my career!**

 _(((Prompt:_

 _Prompt set in this season: Dean gets hurt during a hunt that Mary asks for help with, he seems fine with Sam's worrying care and frustrated that Mary didn't stay to help. Everything is fine for a few days but Dean suddenly gets horrible headaches that he tries to hide from Sam until Sam finds him unconscious and on fire with fever. Somewhere other than his room, bloody nose and whatever other of your touches you prefer. Great detail on Dean passing out from the pain would be greatly appreciated. Seizures and Dean being out cold for a long time that Sam begins to freak and his really freaks out when he coaxes Dean awake and his brother has black eyes. You can come up with whatever reason for Dean having black eyes other than being a demon but Sam believing it is over and readily prepared to end it all for both of them because he realizes he cannot be without his big brother. )))_


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